


death goes before me.

by darkerholland



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Bang Chan, Bang Chan is Whipped, Character Death, Chatty Lee Felix, Depression, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Getting Together, Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moody Bang Chan, Oblivious Felix Lee, Orphan Felix Lee, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reaper Bang Chan, Religious Content, Requited Love, Sexual Content, Soft Lee Felix (Stray Kids), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkerholland/pseuds/darkerholland
Summary: A single touch to the forehead. That was all it took. A single touch and the boy’s soul was his. It would be the last one. He would be able to rest.But he could not make himself lift his hand. Something about the boy made him hesitate. The boy took another step back. “Leave, please,” he pleaded.Christopher listened. He twisted on his heel and walked down the length of the corridor, down the stairs and out of the church.Dread filled his stomach. He could not take the boy’s life.Christopher is a grim reaper. Felix is supposed to be his last victim. But there is something about Felix: something that makes Christopher hesitate. And so he does not take Felix' soul that night, but keeps coming back to Felix anyway.Russian translation available
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 148
Kudos: 212





	1. the empty church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for shit talk about religion.
> 
> Thanks to bcrch97 for a Russian translation!  
> Russian translation available here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/10457870

_"The boy, Christopher. This is your last chance.”_

The words spooked through Christopher’s mind as he headed up the road. It was dark and the streets were deserted, save for a stray cat. The animal recoiled from Christopher and screeched, running away before Christopher could acknowledge it.

He was used to living things drawing back from him, even if they were not aware they were doing it. Animals had keen senses. They saw him coming and walked or flew or jumped or slithered or swam or leapt away, as if he was their predator and they his prey.

Humans did no such thing, for they could not smell the scent of death coming from him, nor could they sense his intentions. They walked around him, yes, and took an extra step back if they came too close to him, but they still talked to him, even if they could not meet his eyes. Their own eyes could not travel farther than his mouth, which was permanently pulled into a straight line. Christopher could not remember the last time he had smiled.

It was only a good thing humans could not perceive Christopher fully. Though he looked remarkably human, one part of his existence could never resemble that of a mortal. His eyes. The colour of his irises was an inhuman shade of light purple and marked him as a servant of death.

Christopher had never been sent to this neighbourhood, yet it felt mind-numbingly familiar. Everything looked painstakingly similar in the mortal world. The reoccurring sight of it made him so exhausted. He was ready to go back home, where he could rest peacefully. He was done here.

Most of the lights had gone out. The humans were deeply slumbering in their beds, dreaming of good and kind things, like leaving their lips on their child’s forehead or embracing a loved one they had not seen in a long time. Perhaps they were dreaming of terrifying things. Things like Christopher.

Christopher came to a stop in front of the large structure and looked up. Though it was dark and the moon was hidden beneath a thick layer of clouds and no street lantern could reach so high as to illuminate the top of the building, he still saw it. The spire carried a cross. The boy lived in a church.

Religious spaces, like churches, temples, and mosques, dampened his power. The structures were built for gods and touched by gods. They were places so full of worship and devotion to life that Christopher could often not bear to be in one. His chest would tighten and his mind would be hazy and he would not be able to think or do as he had been taught.

But the boy was here, and he was Christopher’s last chance to rest.

The church doors were locked, but nothing was ever locked for Christopher, so he simply pulled on them and the lock gave away. Inside it was cold and dark, and he wanted to turn back and leave immediately.

A small basket hung from a hook near the door. It was empty, but it reeked of pitiful money, given only out of social obligation rather than altruism. The money did not go to the poor, nor to charity and certainly not to the upkeep of the church. It went straight into the pockets of the men who pretended to believe in God but regarded capitalism as the highest religion.

The church was big, with approximately twenty rows of pews on each side. The stone floor was grey and cracked in some places. Despair and deception seeped into these crevices and filled the church falsehood. If truth was once spoken here, it existed no more.

Past the pews stood a statue of Jesus. Its saturated paint layer was flaking off and his pink was broken off at the first knuckle. It faced the church and saw every day the uninspiring devotion which prolonged the church’s wretched existence.

Left of Jesus stood the dais, where one of the preachers stood every Sunday and spoke from a book which they had read maybe a few times in their lives, and from which they had selected verses and psalms which they knew would bore their followers enough to not note the inconsistencies and flaws in their sermons, but not so much that their money source would disappear.

These men, these preachers, they relished the power they held over their followers. They savoured their title as Father This and Father That, especially when those names came out of the mouths of innocent little boys who did not understand why Father This and Father That liked to touch them, and who would later come to realise God did not exist behind those closed doors.

How Christopher hated churches. He was not afraid of much, be he did fear gods, for the gods knew his sins, and his sins were greater than any god’s forgiveness, and so they could never even each other out, and he was always in debt to them.

But there were no gods here. The church was overwhelmingly empty. Any divinity that once roamed here had long disappeared, leaving men to cover up their absence with lies and pretence.

To Christopher’s right, a door stood ajar, and behind it he could see a spiral stair leading up to the first floor. He walked, silently. His footsteps could not be heard, for he was weightless. He came to the top of the stairs and found himself on a landing, facing a row of doors on each side.

Was this where the boys slept? Was this where they had been taught lying still was easier than crying out because it meant it was over sooner? Or were they boys allowed to sleep peacefully and keep their innocence until the harsh world would take it from them?

There was only silence behind the doors and Christopher wondered whether the rooms were occupied. He opened the first door, where he saw nothing but the outline of two bunk beds shoved into opposite corners. There was the gentle rhythm of four humans breathing, but none of them was the boy. The boy would be hidden. Or so he thought.

A floorboard creaked and Christopher’s head turned to the source of the sound. The last door on his left had been opened and from the room emerged a boy. The boy quietly and slowly shuffled towards Christopher, who stayed still in the shadows.

He knew immediately this was the boy. _His_ boy. A gentle golden hue radiated from his body, softly flickering in the absence of light. It was unperceivable to the human eye, but it served as a means of identification to Christopher. This boy’s time in the world was up. He had lived for as long as he had been permitted. Now it was time for him to die.

“Jisung? Is that you?” the boy whispered. Christopher did not respond. “Jisung? Are you having trouble sleeping as well?”

When Christopher stayed silent again, the boy crept closer. “Are you sleepwalking?” The boy stopped. “Wait here. I’ll get a candle.”

The boy disappeared back into his room. Christopher considered following him but the boy was back in the blink of an eye. This time, he walked steadily towards Christopher, a candlestick in his right hand, his left around the flame to protect it from going out.

“I’ll take you back to bed,” the boy whispered as he got close to Christopher. He was only two paces away, and his scent hit Christopher’s nostrils. The boy smelled of cheap soap, mixed in with the more pleasurable smells of citrus and summer flowers. It was not entirely repulsive.

The boy’s hand dropped, illuminating his face in the faint candlelight. His complexion was slightly tan, his jaw sharp, his nose small, and his lips heart-shaped. These features were attractive, but nothing special. Christopher had seen it on thousands of people before. His freckles, however, made Christopher’s heart skip a beat, before it started beating rapidly. They were scattered around his nose, cheeks, and eyelids. In his mind, Christopher connected them together to create tiny galaxies.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, his voice still quiet but no longer a whisper. He took a step back, taking the light with him, and the only thing Christopher wanted to do was to pull the boy back so he could commit his face to his memory.

“Who are you?” the boy asked again, louder this time. Christopher heard someone stir in the room next to him.

A single touch to the forehead. That was all it took. A single touch and the boy’s soul was his. It would be the last one. He would be able to rest.

But he could not make himself lift his hand. Something about the boy made him hesitate. The boy took another step back.

“Leave, please,” he pleaded.

Christopher listened. He twisted on his heel and walked down the length of the corridor, down the stairs and out of the church.

Dread filled his stomach. He could not take the boy’s life.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is taken from a poem by Yvor Winters with the same name


	2. white lies

_“The boy, Christopher. Where is he?”_

_“The boy lives in a church.”_

_“Religion has never hindered you before.”_

_“It did this time.”_

_The reaper shook his head. “What are you doing? You are so close.”_

_"I will not fail today.”_

_"You had better not. The longer this boy lives, the hungrier the fates become. You and I cannot go up against their power. If they do not acquire his soul, you will be paying for it in his stead.”_

He had to succeed this time. _The boy must die today_ Christopher told himself.

The church looked even shabbier in the daylight than it did when it was seeped in shadows and darkness. The parking lot was littered with empty cans, paper bags and flyers for missing pets. There were only two cars parked, both of them looking like they contributed heavily towards CO2 emissions.

Now that he could see the church in all of its obscurity, Christopher realised it was not as big as he had thought it was last night. Most of its size came from the thick walls and a separate building that was only semi-attached to the church. A dirty sign had been nailed to the wall.

_St. Paul’s United Church._

One of the doors was open and fastened to the wall with a hook. Christopher could hear several voices from inside, echoing through the vast space and bouncing off the walls. Most of them were young voices, he could tell. There was one deep voice among the higher ones. It was the boy’s, he was sure of it. Though last night his voice had not been much louder than a whisper, he knew it was him.

His voice sounded fruity, like melted honey and lush velvet combined. His voice was the clearest and other sounds fell away as he spoke. Christopher imagined the other boys hanging on his lips, intently listening to every word he said.

“Can I help you?”

Christopher turned around. A man, dressed in black suit pants and a blacks smart shirt with a white collar at his neck, regarded Christopher with a kind look. He was old, evident from his greying hair and slightly hunched over posture. His eyes travelled from Christopher’s polished black shoes, black pants and black overcoat to his face, stopping at his mouth.

Though Christopher was ageless, having long surpassed the need to define his existence in years, he preferred to appear as a young man. It made him blend in with practically every crowd.

“It’s awfully cold outside, is it not?” the pastor asked kindly. “Care to come inside? I can get you a cup of tea if you’d like?”

“I would like that, yes,” Christopher responded. The pastor startled at his voice. That often happened. It had been a long time since he had become a reaper, but he still remembered the awe he felt as a newly appointed reaper whenever one of his seniors spoke. Reapers’ voices were like magic. They had the power to entrance any individual to do a reaper’s bidding, to make them their puppet.

“What’s your name?” the pastor asked.

“Christopher.”

“I’m Father Gideon, one of two pastors at St. Paul's.”

“Have you been with the church long?” Christopher asked as they headed inside. He cared not about Father Gideon nor his church, but he knew that by seeming interested, he would be allowed to stay longer.

“For nearly forty-five years now. I apprenticed here and decided to stay.”

Inside, a cluster of boys of various ages was gathered on the ground around Jesus’ statue. The night-time had concealed the statue’s threadbare appearance well, hiding the mismatched proportions of the body to the head and its odd expression. The boys were bending over something, swapping objects and laughing as they pointed at the ground.

Christopher stopped at the threshold and lifted an eyebrow at the sight. Father Gideon stopped beside him and explained: “we are also an orphanage of sorts. It’s not entirely official, but the state cares little about rules and regulations when we can house up to fifteen orphans without questions asked. Cheap for them.”

“Costly for you, though, I can imagine,” Christopher pointed out.

“We have enough to get by,” Father Gideon said. Christopher noted the underlying worry in his voice. “The boys help out around the church, sew their own clothes and uniforms, and walk to school. We grow some of our own food as well.” He shrugged. “We manage.”

Father Gideon guided Christopher through a door to the right. They ended up in a large kitchen, with a small table covered in newspapers and unopened envelopes quashed into the corner.

“We eat in the dining hall,” Father Gideon said, jerking his head towards a large door, “but we can drink our tea here.” He went to the counter and busied himself with the kettle and tea bags.

The oppressiveness of being in a church weighed on Christopher’s mind, but he found it easily subdued. The shouting of the boys and the absence of talk about religion and God made it easier to bear.

“Christopher,” Father Gideon started, placing a cup of herby-smelling tea in front of him and plopping down on the seat opposite him, “what can I do for you? I assume you came here with a purpose?”

Christopher cleared his throat. “Recently, my aunt died very unexpectedly.” Father Gideon nodded solemnly and made a quick cross across his chest. “My mother and I cleared out her belongings to donate and give away. We came across a letter, and though I am usually not a nosy person, my curiosity got the better of me and I read the contents of the letter. I thought perhaps it was from a past lover.

“But the letter was vague, with no context and even less information. But together, my mother and I figured out what it was about. You see, Father Gideon, about seventeen years ago, my aunt disappeared for a few months. No one knew where she had gone. Then she suddenly came back home and she had changed, drastically. My mother always suspected her sister had become pregnant. Her sister was just a baby at that time, barely sixteen. My mother, along with her parents and friends, surmised she had left the city to give birth to her baby somewhere else and then gave the child up for adoption.”

Father Gideon made a tiny sound, something resembling a release of breath and gasp at the same time. “You think one of the boys here is your cousin?”

Christopher nodded. “We are not sure about much, but we know my aunt gave birth to a boy in this city. She briefly mentioned bringing the boy to Paul. We assumed it may have been a friend, but we can find no one by that name. I was just on my way to fetch some breakfast when I came across your church.”

“St. Paul’s,” Father Gideon noted.

“It makes sense, does it not? She could have easily left the baby on your doorstep.”

“Of course, but legally, we aren’t an orphanage. We aren’t on any lists or registers. How could she have known?”

Christopher shrugged. “The child would have been taken care of either way, right? Even if this had not been an orphanage, you would have taken an abandoned baby somewhere safe, correct?”

“Of course,” Father Gideon said, his chest puffing out slightly. Christopher rolled his eyes, knowing Father Gideon would not be able to see the action and therefore could not be offended by the disrespect.

“Do you know anything else besides the gender of the baby? I can’t help you with anything else, otherwise. All the children we have here are boys.”

“I only know that _if_ he was left on your doorsteps, it would have been seventeen years ago. In late summer.”

Christopher was operating under the presumption his boy had been here since birth, which was a dangerous belief to hold. He knew nothing about the boy, other than that he had lived for a little longer than seventeen years and that it was time for him to die now.

Father Gideon frowned and looked away in thought. “Seventeen years ago, you say? Well, we do have a few seventeen-year-old boys. Three of them were born in the late summer. The Septembers, we call them. Only two of them have been here since they were a few days old, though. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the boys. Best not to mention anything about you being possible family, though.”

“Naturally,” Christopher said, slightly inclining his head.

Father Gideon led them back to the nave. The boys were still sprawled across the chancel. They had calmed down slightly, concentrating on their activity. Christopher craned his neck. They seemed to be crafting something.

“The boys make the nativity set each year. Christmas is approaching, so they’ve been busy.”

“I am sure it will be… satisfactory,” Christopher said, for lack of a more positive word. Father Gideon snickered.

“Septembers, over here please,” Father Gideon called. Three boys stood up, including the freckled one. He had been at the back of the group, but he stood out to Christopher now.

The boy was about the same height as Christopher, which meant he was not terribly tall, and he was slight as well, with thin arms and legs. He wore simple clothing; dark jeans and a grey oversized t-shirt. His hair was blond, but it had obviously been a self-dye job, and it had been a long time ago, judging by his dark roots. His freckles stood out even more in the daylight, framing every part of his face beautifully.

“You can stay, Seungmin,” Father Gideon said gently. The brown-haired boy lowered himself to the floor again.

“Hello, Father Gideon,” the boys said in unison.

“Good morning, boys. This is Christopher,” Father Gideon said by way of introduction.

One of the boys gave a forced smile, but _the_ boy did not smile. He frowned.

He stared straight into Christopher’s eyes. A jolt of electricity shot through Christopher’s body as their eyes connected. Christopher almost had the mind to take a step back, startled at the sudden eye contact. How was he looking at Christopher like that? No human had even been able to look him in the eyes, and this boy should not have been an exception to that rule, even though he clearly was.

“Your eyes,” the boy muttered.

“Contacts,” Christopher explained quickly.

“This is Jisung,” Father Gideon said, extending his hand to the boy with the forced smile. “And this one here is Felix.”


	3. the course of life

“ _Felix_ ,” Christopher said, the name rolling off his tongue. It felt smooth and silky in his mouth, the tones soft and gentle and lovely. It sounded like a piano being played in a small room with the windows wide open while it calmly rained outside.

“What was your name again?” Felix asked.

“Christopher.”

The two sat at the small table in the kitchen, neither of them touching the tea Father Gideon had prepared for them. Christopher had convinced Father Gideon Felix was the spitting image of his late aunt, which had prompted the pastor to give them a moment of privacy in the kitchen.

Christopher was not sure where he was trying to go with this. He had never before had a real conversation with the humans whose soul he had withdrawn from their body. Sometimes, in the moment before their death, they saw him and asked ‘does it hurt?’ and he would respond ‘no’, or now and then they asked if heaven was real, and Christopher would answer that it was, because only the religious ones asked that sort of question, and he was not wicked enough to deny them the comfort the thought of an eternal paradise brought them.

“Are you from the government?” Felix asked, shifting in his seat.

“No, I am not.”

“Another church, then? I already told Father Albert I didn’t want to do the choir again. I’m not actually that good at singing.”

“I am not with a church, either.”

Felix sighed in desperation. “How can I help you then?”

Christopher was not sure how to reply to him. He did not want to lie to Felix like he had to Father Gideon. He did not feel like Felix deserved that false hope. But he could also not tell the truth. So he stayed silent and regarded Felix some more.

“Why do you wear those contacts?” Felix asked curiously.

Christopher cast his eyes down at the table to stop Felix from staring at them. It made him feel strangely self-conscious.

“A fashion statement, if you will.”

“Pretty cool,” Felix said, sounding somewhat impressed. “Do you see things in purple now?”

Christopher tried to smile, but the pull of muscles was too unfamiliar to him, so it looked like he was suffering from a rather nervous twitch. “No. It doesn’t affect my vision whatsoever.”

Felix leaned back in his chair, nodding his head and rubbing his arms. “Do you want to tell me something or can I go back?”

“Do you ever wish you had a family?” Christopher asked suddenly. He had had a family, once. Parents, and a little sister, too. He thought. There might have been a brother. The memories were of so long ago, he was not sure which recollection was true and which one he had conjured up himself. It had been a long time since he had missed them or even thought about them.

When he had first begun as a reaper, and the pain of losing his family was still fresh, he cried for them every day. Now, he could barely remember their existence. When he had started feeling the memories slipping from his mind, he had written down everything he could recall about his family. He had not looked at those books in a very long time. The last time he had read them, it had felt like he was reading about a stranger’s life rather than his own.

“I have a family,” Felix said sharply. “Those boys are my brothers.”

Christopher inclined his head. “I did not mean to offend. It was merely a question out of curiosity.”

“Why do you ask? Do you not have a family? You seem a bit old for an orphanage.”

“So do you,” Christopher said. “Less than a year until you have to leave.”

Felix stood up. The chair scraped against the stone floor and would have fallen to the ground had it not been blocked by the open kitchen door.

“I’ll have you know Father Gideon told me I could stay here and work for him. He won’t abandon me just because legally I’m an adult,” Felix said defiantly, anger covering his words with venom.

“How long are you planning to stay with the church? Do you want to become a clergy? Apprentice under Father Gideon?”

Felix faltered then. His hostile posture changed. He no longer stood upright, his shoulders hung low and his chin was pointed at the floor.

“What do you want to do with your life?” Christopher continued. “Surely, you have plans?”

Felix shrugged and kicked his foot at the air. “Dunno. Not really. Haven’t given it any thought.”

“Come sit down,” Christopher said, gesturing at the chair.

Felix sighed loudly but complied, letting himself fall back into the chair with grace.

“I am interested in you, Felix.” Felix frowned and opened his mouth. Christopher held up his hand, silencing him before he could even utter a word. “I do not have any intention of becoming your family. But I know you want to stay with the church because you are afraid. It is all you have ever known. I can help you rid that fear from your life.”

Felix snorted. “I’m not afraid.”

Christopher shrugged. “You do not like breaking routines. You hate stepping out of your comfort zone. Call it what you want. You know little about the world and the possibilities it can give you.”

Felix sniffed and looked down. “And you want to help me? How?”

“I know _everything_ about this world. I know its secrets, its fears, its dangers, its dreams and wishes. I know the world like the back of my hand.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “You’ve travelled a lot?”

“You could say that.”

In fact, Christopher had never ventured from this city. He had been born here as a human, died here as a human, then reborn here as a reaper, and he would die here as a reaper. His soul was tethered to this city and he could never stray from it. What he lacked in travel experience he made up in age. He had seen civilisations be built, torn down and rebuilt again. He had met millions of people. They were all the same, always.

There was only one truth about humans, and it was a simple one. Humans lived to die. From the day they were born, humans were taught that they were going to die, and they were reminded of it every day. Parents cooed over their babies, whispering in their ear they would protect them with their lives. Children had to wear helmets while riding their bike, because an injury to the head could lead to death. Teenagers were told to stay away from drugs and alcohol, because it would ruin their lives in ways their undeveloped brains could not imagine. Middle-aged people were advised to adhere to strict diets in order to keep their blood pressure low and reduce the risk of heart diseases. And old people were simply reminded every day their time could run out any minute, which was true, of course, but was not a fact exclusive to them.

So their entire lives were shaped by the same desire: to live a satisfactory life which followed societal rules, which was the only acceptable way to live life. A lifetime of an average person looked a little like this; being born and enjoying life for about four years; eighteen years of mind-numbing education (if they are lucky); a job specialising in the area they majored in (if they are lucky), a partner who they love (if they are lucky, and if they are not, then at least someone they tolerate); a minimum of two children to prolong their bloodline; approximately fifty years of work (if they are lucky, otherwise they die of exhaustion); roughly ten years of uneasy rest with little to no money; their funeral.

The pattern was so overwhelmingly monotonous, Christopher had not been interested in a human since the first person whose soul he had taken. Everything after that first human was a blur.

Until Felix. After Christopher had left the church last night, flashes of Felix’s shadowy face in the candlelight had whizzed through his mind until morning. He had not been able to stop thinking about Felix. Now, after having seen him in light, Christopher did not think it was possible for him to ever forget Felix.

“I don’t have any money to travel,” Felix said.

“I will pay for your expenses.”

“I don’t have any money to pay your back.”

“I do not want your money.”

“Are you rich?”

“Very.”


	4. a reaper's challenge

_“Why is he not dead yet? What are you doing?” the reaper asked. He was frustrated now, his skin turning a pale shade of red so familiar on him._

_“He is different from the others,” Christopher said in defence of himself. “He can fully see me.”_

_The reaper breathed out deeply to regain his calmness and gripped the chair. “They foretold this.”_

_“Excuse me, sir?” Christopher asked in confusion._

_“The fates. They spoke a prophecy when you first became a reaper. They said you would undergo your reaper’s challenge at an ill-fitted time.”_

_“What do you mean, sir?”_

_“Every reaper faces a challenge in their career. It is different for everyone, though most of them occur earlier rather than later. Tormenting us gives the fates a good laugh. No one has ever faced their challenge this late in their career.”_

_“What was your challenge, sir?”_

_The reaper looked away then, staring off into the distance. After five minutes of silence, Christopher dismissed himself, wondering about what could have possibly haunted his senior to that extent._

Christopher was greeted by a different pastor this time. He introduced himself as Father Albert. Father Albert was a tiny man with black hair and a narrow face and was obviously much younger than Father Gideon. In fact, had he not been wearing his clerical clothing, Christopher would have grouped him in with the older orphans.

“Father Gideon mentioned you,” Father Albert said, leading him into the nave. “He said you’re Felix’ family?”

“I do suspect so, but nothing has been confirmed yet. For now, I just want to get to know him.”

Father Albert frowned. “Is that a wise thing to do? If he’s not your cousin, after all, he’ll just have to face the disappointment of someone he’s become attached to leaving him. He’s older, but it doesn’t hurt any less when the people who we think care about us leave us,” he babbled as he walked between the pews, collecting hymnals from yesterday’s service.

Christopher’s blood ran cold at the accusation. A chilly draught breezed through the open door and made Father Albert turn and frown at the sudden change. Christopher did have that effect. His mood influenced the world around him, starting with the weather. His fellow reapers made sure to stay away from him whenever he was in a bad mood – which was nearly always. Wherever Christopher went, rain and thunder usually followed.

“Even if Felix and I are not blood-related, I do not plan on abandoning him. I am not a cruel being.” His entire existence was made up of ruthless cruelty, but he did not think he acted heinously, which in his opinion, counted for something.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it in that way. It’s just that, well… the boys… they hope. When they’re little, anyway. Once they reach a certain age they know their chances of getting adopted are slim to none. But I know most of them, even in their late teenage years, still dream about having a real family.”

“And who can blame them?” Christopher added.

“Well, we do take good care of them here,” Father Albert said, slight offence audible in his voice. “They’ve got Father Gideon and me. And the other boys, of course. Most important of all, they’ve got God,” he said, pointing at the ceiling, as if God was hiding in there. Christopher looked up to entertain Father Albert, but he knew there was nothing watching them. “As long as they have Him in their hearts, they are set for life.”

Father Albert waited for confirmation from Christopher, which he realised after a few painfully awkward moments he was not going to get. Pretending to be a believer was a step too far, even for Christopher. There were a lot of things he was willing to do, but letting the gods laugh at him as they saw his attempts to blend in with religious people was not one of them.

“Where is Felix?” Christopher asked.

Father Albert looked at his watch. “I suppose he’s coming back from school soon. You’re welcome to wait inside if you want.”

“I will wait outside.”

The sun shone brightly, easing the cold bite against Christopher’s cheeks from the freezing wind. Christopher did not mind cold weather all that much, but the excitement of seeing Felix again made him impatient and agitated. He cursed the biting frost, even though he knew his own temper was making it that way.

“You’ll get frostbite if you stand out here for much longer,” Felix said. He appeared alongside his friends, his brothers, in the church’s empty parking lot. With a few curious glances, the other boys streamed into the comfort of the warm church. Felix came to a standstill in front of Christopher.

“I see you haven’t given up yet.”

Christopher shrugged. “I told you we’d be exploring the world together.”

Felix laughed disbelievingly. Father Gideon had given permission for Christopher to take Felix away, but only if it did not interfere with his school studies. Even after having told Felix this news, he still did not think Christopher was being serious.

“Can you not give me your mobile phone number?” Christopher complained. “I do not wish to wait around for you every day.” Christopher had never had a mobile phone before, but he had used them often enough to know how they worked. After his first meeting with Felix, he had rushed out to buy a phone for himself. His senior had groaned when he had caught Christopher with it later that night but ended up staring at the screen in fascination as Christopher used it to remotely switch the lights on and off.

Felix shrugged. “Don’t have one.”

Christopher frowned. “Why not?”

Felix let out another laugh, this one filled with contempt and shame. “Do I look like I can afford a phone? I haven’t even bought new clothes since last year. Why do you think everything I wear is oversized? In case I have a sudden growth spurt, I still want my clothes to fit.”

Christopher made a non-committal sound. “I will acquire one for you, then.”

Felix panicked then, acting as if receiving a phone was the same as receiving a death sentence. “No, no! You really don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t think I’m allowed a phone. If I have a phone, the other boys will want one as well. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Then I will give everyone a mobile phone. Now that that is settled, let us go.” Christopher started walking but stopped once he realised Felix was not following him. “Is there a problem?”

“I should tell someone I’m leaving.”

Christopher glanced at the open church door and saw two intrigued faces staring back at him. “The Septembers will see you leaving with me,” Christopher said. “I will have him back with you no later than eight o’clock,” he called out to them. Jisung grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, pulling an objecting Seungmin back into the church with him.

They did not start off their afternoon in their best moods. Christopher was completely out his depth, interacting with a human to this extent. Felix felt resigned and Christopher sensed he did not really want to be here with Christopher, which made the latter feel even worse.

“I thought we could get to know each other a bit better first,” Christopher said as he led them downtown. “Do you fancy something to eat? Or is a cup of tea enough for you?”

“Are you paying?” Felix asked.

“Obviously.”

“Can we get hamburgers?” Felix asked hopefully. Christopher arched an eyebrow in question. “We don’t usually eat meat. It’s too expensive,” he explained.

“Then let us find somewhere we can eat hamburgers.”

They walked on in silence for a little while. Neither of them knew what to talk about with a complete stranger. Christopher had not kept up with the latest trends and teenagers’ fascinations. The newest band he knew were The Byrds, though he had not heard of them in two decades. Christopher supposed he _could_ talk about Felix’ school, though in his experience, the subject had never been well received by any teenager, so he stayed away from that topic.

“Why do you talk like that?” Felix asked to break the silence.

Christopher looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like you belong in the nineteenth century or something like that.”

Christopher blanched. He admitted his language was not equal to that of people alive today, but he thought he kept up with the latest linguistic trends well enough. No one had noted anything odd about his vernacular, anyway.

“I suppose one could consider me an old soul,” Christopher answered. Felix shrugged in response, obviously not _that_ interested in the subject.

The two settled down in a little pub. It was not that busy yet, with only a few people sitting at the bar, drinking watered-down alcohol and eating stale nuts from a small bowl. Christopher and Felix sat in a corner booth, far away from the rest of the customers. Christopher ordered a coffee to start with. Felix, after reassurance from Christopher that he had enough money on him to order the entire menu twice, ordered a large hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream.

“Well, Felix,” Christopher started, taking a sip of his coffee, “tell me about yourself.”


	5. a dead man's job

“What are you having?” Felix asked nervously as he eyed the menu.

“I will have a salad. I suppose you want a hamburger?” Felix nodded his head enthusiastically. “Which one?”

Felix’ face fell. “What do you mean?”

“There are multiple hamburgers to choose from,” Christopher explained.

“Oh,” Felix said, scanning the menu again. He closed the book with a snap. “You choose for me. I don’t really care either way.”

Christopher stacked his menu on top of Felix’ and pushed them to the edge of the table. The waitress, a young woman with an easy smile plastered on her face, came to pick them up.

“What can I get for you two?” she asked.

“We would like a salad and the pulled bacon hamburger, please.”

The sun set quickly. The waitress switched on all the lamps, casting a cheap, yellow hue over the entire space. The pub started filling up as well and soon Christopher had to raise his voice to make himself be heard over the noise of fifty people simultaneously talking. He could have easily dimmed the sound surrounding them, but the difference would be too stark for Felix not to notice, and Christopher wanted him to remain ignorant for as long as possible.

“Do you want to become a chef, then?” Christopher asked. Felix had just told him the only hobby he had that he could turn into a career path was cooking, but he did not seem all that thrilled about the prospect of being a chef.

Felix shook his head. “I don’t really work that well under pressure. I always help with the Christmas dinner but it’s such a chaos I usually end up leaving the kitchen and not coming back until dish-washing-duty. I can’t imagine having to work in that kind of environment.” He shuddered in his seat.

“Have you not had some kind of advice from school?” Christopher inquired. He could not imagine schools just sending off their students like that. Surely they had some kind of plan for the students who did not know what they wanted to do?

Again, Felix shrugged, though his cheeks reddened slightly at the question. “There are enough options for me. I could join the church,” he said, a bit miserably, “or else I could join the army or something.”

“Two opposites,” Christopher noted.

“Both serving the country.”

Christopher did not necessarily agree with that statement. Over the centuries, he had developed a disdain for both organisations, and was not of the opinion that either did any good for the country. Too many people still were using religion as an excuse to spew hate and he thought believers were some of the most close-minded people he had encountered. The army received too much money for a war they were not fighting and had created so much bloodshed the reapers had taken to calling soldiers ‘reaper impersonators’.

“Is that what you want to do? Serve the country?” Christopher asked. He heard the condescension in his tone and cringed inwardly. Fortunately, Felix did not seem to pick up on it. He was too busy making light of his gloomy situation.

“At least both guarantee money.”

“And probable death.”

Felix frowned. “I understand the dangers of being a soldier, but what would I die of if I became a clergy?”

“Boredom.”

Felix snorted and choked on his hot chocolate. A marshmallow ended up on Christopher’s side of the table, who grabbed a napkin with a blank look and pushed the stray piece of candy aside.

“You’re right. I don’t think I have the patience to become someone like Father Gideon.” He stirred the hot chocolate with a bobbing piece of marshmallow. “What about you? What do you do for work? You must have a well-paying job. What did you go to college for? Why are you already rich? Did you inherit money? Or were you born wealthy?” Felix asked this all in one breath and Christopher blinked while shaking his head, trying to absorb all the questions. Where had the sudden interest come from? Just half an hour ago, they had walked in an almost painful silence and Christopher had wanted to turn around and go back to St. Paul’s just so they did not have to suffer through it anymore.

“You are quite chatty all of a sudden,” Christopher said.

“Oh, come on!” Felix said in a furious whisper. The waitress came with their food, silencing Felix for a few seconds. The giddy anticipation was apparent in his demeanour and he waited until the waitress was out of earshot before leaning in again.

“You know what happens when a stranger turns up at St. Paul’s and they show interest in only one boy?”

Christopher shook his head, but he already knew the answer.

“It always turns out to be some long-lost relative who has come to claim their nephew or great-grandson or something. Just this year, we had three boys get adopted by their family. _Three_!” Felix repeated, holding up three fingers for added effect.

“Alright, I understand,” Christopher said, pushing Felix’ hand down again. Despite his lack of appetite, he picked up his fork and stabbed at the sad pieces of wilted lettuce.

“Are you?” Felix asked carefully, prodding his hamburger nervously.

“Am I what?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “My family.”

“No!” Christopher said in a hurry, and louder than he had wanted. “No. Absolutely not,” he repeated in a hushed tone.

“Oh,” Felix said, sinking back into his seat and dejectedly picking up his hamburger.

Christopher winced. He should not have been so quick and rushed to answer the question. He had not wanted Felix to think they were blood-related, but now the boy just looked dispirited. Christopher thought back to what Father Albert had told him, about how even the older boys still hoped of having a real family, and he instantly felt horrible about crushing Felix’ spirits. But he could not comment about what his real interest in Felix was about, so he changed the subject.

“I work in the funeral business,” he said, trying to stay close to the truth. “I am also older than I look, but do not ask me more questions about it. It makes me insecure.” Felix grinned at that.

“How old are you, then?”

“I just told you not to ask any more questions,” Christopher deadpanned.

“Are you really rich?” Felix asked again. “Where did you get all that money?”

“I am indeed very rich. The funeral business is very lucrative. It is also a family business of sorts. I will leave it at that.”

Christopher was not rich at all. In fact, he owned very little money. He had no need for it. As a reaper, he did not need to sleep – he still did it anyway, as he did feel somewhat more rested afterwards – nor did he need sustenance. The salad in front of him was the first meal he had had in nearly thirty years. Christopher did not need money to survive. If he wanted something, all he had to do was take it. No one ever paid him any heed.

“Doesn’t that depress you? Being around dead bodies all the time?”

“Why? Am I not a fun person to be around?”

Felix laughed. Loudly. People around them turned around to see what had happened, but with a subtle wave of Christopher’s hand, they turned around again.

Christopher never wanted Felix to stop laughing. His laugh sounded like how the sky looked on a clear night, one of those skies you could not help but stare up at it in wonder at the infinity of stars decorating it, and then suddenly your stomach and heart and head filled with an odd feeling: the sudden awareness that your small existence was of no real importance to the universe, and you would be left with the realisation you were minuscule, and the universe was so incredibly vast.

Felix’ laugh was angelic and surreal, but it felt bittersweet once the moment was over and the only remnant left of it was the small smile on his face, though Christopher loved that slight twinkle almost as much as his laugh itself.

“I don’t know about _fun_ , but you sure are _funny_. Even if it’s unintentional.”

“Thank you?” Christopher said, more a question than a statement.

“What do you do? Do you cut people open? Do their guts ever spill out?”

Christopher sighed. Felix was not going to let this go. “I am not a medical examiner. We prepare for funerals, not autopsies. I clothe the bodies and prepare them for viewing.”

“Do you do the make-up as well?”

“No, that task is for someone else,” Christopher said.

“I’ve been to a funeral only once in my life. A teacher of mine died and the whole school was invited to the funeral. So there’s about four-hundred kids packed into St Paul’s, and her family and friends. And they put the casket upfront and then one by one we had to go to it so we could say goodbye. Jisung said she would be like a skeleton but she looked really alive, like she was sleeping. So we just walked past it and then we had to pay our respects to her crying family, which was a bit awkward. I hadn’t really liked her that much, which is a horrible thing to say, but I was only eight back then, so I didn’t think of anyone but myself. Afterwards, the other children got to play in the parking lot, but we had to help clean everything, which really didn’t help with the whole ‘not-feeling-sad’ thing.”

Christopher had quickly come to realise Felix was quite talkative once he was a bit more comfortable. He did not even think about interrupting him.

Felix perked up. “Is it any fun, working in a funeral home?” Christopher was sure Felix was thinking about a possible career as an undertaker, which was a respectable and fulfilling choice, but Christopher, who was the definition of death and was always surrounded by it, did not think it suited Felix.

“Very boring. I do not recommend it.”

Christopher thought Felix might do well as a writer. He had stories to tell. Perhaps they could make one together.


	6. unanswered messages

_“You have until the first day of the new year to take his soul, Christopher.” That was a little less than three weeks from now. “The fates have said you have until this date to collect his soul. Otherwise, your retirement will fall through and you will serve for eternity.”_

_Christopher blanched. Serve for eternity? It was a horrible fate, bestowed upon those who had failed their challenge or who had disrespected the fates. Christopher assumed he was already on thin ice with them by putting off his duty for this long, but if they had wanted Felix’ soul that badly, they should not have made him Christopher’s challenge._

_“Christopher,” the reaper said softly, a pitiful look on his face. “It is better to get it over with.”_

_“I am aware.”_

St. Paul’s was decked out with hand-made Christmas decorations, without a doubt created by the orphans. The streamers were all different lengths, the ribbons tied at the end of the pews all had different knots, some of the wreaths hanging on the pillars were halfway to their death, and the Christmas tree next to Jesus’ statue was oddly decorated, with patches of no decorations and patches with such an overwhelming amount of baubles the tree leaned slightly towards the left. At least the nativity scene looked alright.

It was snowing outside, so Christopher stood inside – near the entrance – waiting for Felix. He looked down at his mobile phone, to which his eyes had been plastered for ten minutes already. He checked the time again. Felix was late. Twenty minutes already.

Christopher almost had the mind to walk inside and ask Father Albert where Felix was, but he did not like Father Albert, nor did Father Albert like him. He supposed he could always pop upstairs, the door was right there, and he knew where Felix slept, but that felt like an incredible violation of privacy, and there were no shadows to hide in were he to suddenly get cold feet.

So Christopher waited. He was certain the mobile phone had reached Felix, because he had read all of the text messages Christopher had sent. But he had not replied to any of them. Christopher looked down at the phone and the open chat with Felix.

**Tuesday 14:06**

Hello Felix,

This is Christopher. I hope this message finds you well. What is your opinion on meeting up this coming Thursday? We could watch the light showing. It is said to be marvellous.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Kind regards,  
Christopher

**Tuesday 20:13**

Hello Felix,

I hope you do not feel burdened by me gifting you the phone. I only meant it as a way of adequate communication.

Kinds regards,  
Christopher

**Yesterday 09:52**

Dear Felix,

Do you want to meet tomorrow? I would like confirmation, if you please. I have to buy tickets for the performance and apparently, they are in high demand.

Christopher

**Yesterday 17:33**

Dear Felix,

If you do not wish to go, for whatever reason, then it does not bother me. I wish you would reply to me.

Christopher

**Yesterday 23:45**

Felix,

Could you reply to my inquiries? I am getting worried about your silence.

Christopher

**Today 00:59**

Have I done or said something to upset you?

**Today 10:46**

Dear Felix,

I will wait for you at St. Paul’s at three o’clock. You have Thursday afternoons free, correct? ‘Till then.

Christopher

Christopher was mildly aware that sending this many text messages without getting a reply was supposed to be an embarrassing experience, but he could not help his worrying. They had left their dinner on very good terms. It had been more than enjoyable and Felix had even stood outside St. Paul’s in the cold for a few more minutes so he could finish his story.

So why was he ignoring Christopher now? He combed through his memories of their dinner, but he could not come up with anything that had seemed to bother Felix, other than Christopher admitting he was not Felix’ family, which he had asked Felix to keep from Father Gideon and Father Albert and preferably the Septembers and just about everyone else, just out of precaution. He had seemed confused by _that_ , but he had not been against it either and he had jovially waved goodbye afterwards.

Christopher, fully realising silence was by no means agreement nor consent in any capacity, had gone ahead and bought the tickets for the light showing. It would start at five o’clock and he had thought they could grab a bit to eat before. Looking at the time now, he was no longer sure that was an option. It was nearing half three and there was still no sign of him. Christopher would just have to swallow his pride and ask Father Albert about Felix’ whereabouts.

But as luck would have it, Christopher’s dignity got spared. The door to the first-floor dormitories opened up and one of the Septembers almost walked into Christopher.

“Oi,” Jisung said, holding on to the doorframe to steady himself. “Whatchu doing, standing there?” he asked.

“Hello,” Christopher said pleasantly. He quite liked Jisung. He had covered for Felix when they had gotten back a lot later than originally planned after their dinner, and according to Felix, Jisung had been the one to encourage Felix to meet Christopher that day. “Is Felix here?”

Jisung’s head jerked back to the staircase. “He’s upstairs.” He frowned. “He didn’t tell me you were coming today, though.”

“I sent him a text message,” Christopher said, frowning as well. He had to at least know Christopher was waiting for him here. Felix _had_ read them, after all.

“A text?” Jisung asked incredulously. “He doesn’t have a phone! None of us do.”

“I sent him one Tuesday. He has read all the messages,” Christopher said, holding up the phone to show proof.

“So that’s what he’s been hiding!” Jisung said suddenly. “A phone. To think I almost caught him with it as well. He was always bent over the thing, hiding it before I could snatch it away. I thought they were dirty pictures or something,” Jisung said sheepishly. Apparently, chattiness ran through the family.

“He has not replied to any of my messages,” Christopher commented, hoping Jisung would have an explanation ready. Perhaps they had gossiped about him.

Sudden realisation crossed Jisung’s face. “Oh, well… uh… it’s not because he doesn’t like you or anything. He actually really liked hanging out with you. It’s just that… well – it’s not really my place to say anything about it.”

Christopher thought this was all very vague, but he stayed patient under Jisung’s spluttering. “Could you ask Felix to come down so perhaps he could explain himself?” he asked. Jisung’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. The boy rushed back upstairs and there was a loud but short discussion between Jisung and Felix. Then the sounds of footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

“Christopher!” Felix said, feigning casualness, even though Christopher had just heard him have an argument with Jisung, which could not have been about anything other than Christopher’s presence, and which Christopher now fully realised was a surprise to Felix. “What are you doing here?” He leaned against the doorpost.

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “I texted you. I told you I would wait for you downstairs.”

Felix looked crestfallen, though he tried to cover it up with a bright smile. “Oh, I must’ve gotten the dates mixed up. I thought it was tomorrow.”

This didn’t seem very plausible to Christopher, as he had said multiple times if Felix wanted to meet on Thursday.

“Why did you not respond to my messages?”

Felix shrugged. “Busy. School things. Final year. Very busy.” He did not elaborate further, which was unusual. Once Felix started talking, there was no stopping him.

“Have I done something to upset you?” Christopher asked quietly.

“No!” Felix said in a rushed but whispered tone. He looked over his shoulder to the stairs, where they both knew Jisung was hiding and listening to their conversation. Father Albert was walking around somewhere in the church as well, and even though they were standing in the entrance, the sound still echoed through the entire church.

“Wait here,” Felix said. “I’ll go grab my coat. We can take a walk.”

Christopher regarded the Jesus statue as he waited for Felix. Its eyes seemed to pierce Christopher’s own, and they were judging him with far more intensity than he was comfortable with.

_He is such a good Christian boy, do not ruin him. You are defiling his gentle and righteous nature. You are the Devil and you want to banish him from this world._

The statue yelled all of these things at Christopher, and in his mind, he was yelling back just as loudly.

_Christianity does not equal goodness. There is no sin in desire. I am not the Devil, though I am his descendant: there is nothing more I want than for Felix to take up his rightful space in the world, to fill it with his goodness and leave an imprint people thousands of years from now will still be able to see and feel. But I am merely a creature of Death, and I cannot control the fates._

The yelling did not make Christopher feel any better. He was fighting a battle against himself, masking the ugly truth with the sort of ignorant justification that comforted his conscience. Guilt and shame settled in a pit in his stomach, the emotions so strong that for a fraction of a second he felt human again.

“Let’s go,” Felix said, appearing in front of him with a thick coat and a hat to match.

They did not walk that far. It was snowing heavily outside and the pavement was slippery. They walked to the bus stop two blocks away and found shelter under its tiny roof.

“I wish you’d stop texting me,” Felix said quietly.

Christopher’s stomach sank. So he _had_ done something to upset Felix. His mind went through all the possibilities. It must have been him asking to keep a secret from Father Gideon and Father Albert. Or perhaps Felix had actually wanted to join the church, and Christopher had made fun of him.

“Can’t you just call me? It’s much easier, anyway,” Felix complained, not looking at Christopher.

Felix still wanted to talk to him. The strain on Christopher’s heart eased a fraction, but he was still confused.

“Of course, I can ring you from now on. But that does not really have anything to do with you ignoring my messages,” he pointed out.

Felix became redder in the face, which Christopher thought had nothing to do with the cold weather. His mouth opened once or twice, but no sound came out. Obviously, he wanted to say something, but for some reason, he could not.

“What is it, Felix? You can tell me.”

Felix muttered something incoherent under his breath.

“What was that?” Christopher asked.

“I can’t read!” Felix repeated fiercely. “Not that well, anyway. And you kept using big words. I couldn’t figure out what you were saying.”

Christopher remained quiet. He now understood why Felix had not responded to his messages. Suddenly, the memory of Felix telling him he could choose which hamburger to get came back to him. Felix had not been able to read the menu.

“But – Father Gideon said you were doing really well in school.”

Felix shrugged. “Most teachers give me the texts in audio form. Some teachers let me take tests orally. The Septembers read my homework questions and I dictate my answers. Seungmin helps me with my government documents and whatnot. I get by.”

“I am so sorry Felix, I had no idea you could not read my messages. I did want to ring, but I did not know when you would be available to answer.”

Felix shrugged. “I’d be able to call you back. I recognise the logos on the screen and I can still read some of the words. It’s not all that complicated.”

“I really am sorry, Felix.”

“Stop apologising. It’s fine. Now you know.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching everyone go about their day. It was busy. It was always busy around Christmas time.

“Well, I texted you to ask you to meet with me today,” Christopher started. “There is a light showing in town. I wanted to know if you wanted to go. To see it. With me.”

Felix smiled. “Sure. Just text me to let Jisung know where we’ve gone. I’m sure he’s got his hands on my phone already.”


	7. pray on your knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for some light sexual content

Christopher knew the lighting show would be marvellous because he had seen it every year since they had first done it thirty-four years ago. Different people worked on the concept every year and there usually was not any repetition of the previous year’s tricks, which made it all the more enjoyable for Christopher.

Felix stared up at the lights in wonder. His bewildered eyes glided from one light spectacle to the other. He craned his neck and stood on his tiptoes to see over the heads of the other visitors.

“I had no idea they were doing this!” Felix said in amazement. “I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never known this existed!” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Shall we get something warm to drink?” Christopher suggested. Felix’ hands had turned from bright red to a pale purple and Christopher was worried about possible frostbite. He led Felix to a stall selling coffee and tea and ordered two black coffees. Felix stirred two packets of sugar into his cup, sighing happily after having taken a sip.

“That much sugar and caffeine is not a great mix,” Christopher commented. “You will be up all night,” he said in earnest.

“Shut up,” Felix said. He nudged Christopher’s side with his elbow and Christopher was so caught off guard by the action he stumbled into the advertisement board next to him. A shock of electricity shot up through his body, the spot where Felix had touched him heating up quickly and becoming uncomfortably warm. He righted himself again, ignoring Felix’ snort of laughter.

That was the first time they had touched and Christopher had made himself look like a fool. Luckily, Felix had not noticed Christopher’s out-of-character reaction, and he had gone back to his coffee.

Christopher struggled to retain his composure after that. He refused to make eye-contact with Felix and he was only half-listening to what he was saying when Felix touched him again (on his arm, this time) and Christopher had the good sense to not yank his arm away, even if it had been his first reflex.

“Are you alright?” Felix asked, his eyes full with concern, his body leaning towards Christopher, his head bowed to be able to look him in the eye. Christopher wanted to get away from here, from the heat, from Felix. It was all too much to handle suddenly. But he knew he could not do that.

“I am fine,” Christopher said.

Felix was not convinced. He gently laid his hand on Christopher’s arm again, slightly pulling him towards Felix. “Chris,” he murmured in a soft tone, a silence following it.

 _Chris_.

A common nickname. The reapers had tried calling him that after complaining that ‘Christopher’ was too long for a name and most ‘Christophers’ went by Chris, and he was certain he had gone by the shortened version of his name when he had been a human anyway, so really, what was the problem? Nothing, in particular. He simply did not like the name. But Felix spoke it with such gentleness and softness, he never wanted him to call him Christopher ever again. _Chris_ gave him butterflies in his stomach.

“Truly, I am okay.”

Felix sighed and led them away from the stall, past the light spectacles and to somewhere seclusive, behind the fountain and just left of the portable toilet cubicles. It was not really all that private, not with couples making their way to the cubicles, pretending they were not retreating into the same one. It smelled foul and Christopher wondered how people could feel aroused with that stench lingering in their nostrils.

He also wondered why Felix had taken him here. He was not sure he wanted to know.

“Who are you, Chris?”

“What do you mean?” He was truly confused now.

“I mean, what are we doing here? I can’t figure you out. You are one big mystery to me.”

“We do not know each other _that_ well,” Christopher counted. “It is not strange that you do not know many things about me, just like how I do not know many things about you.”

“You know more about me than I do about you, and you can’t deny that,” Felix said, frowning at the ground. His good mood seemed to have vanished into thin air. Christopher could not help but think _he_ was the cause for that.

“I just don’t know what to think, Chris. You show up at St. Paul’s unannounced. Fine. We get visitors, nothing strange about it. You are hellbent on talking to me. Still fine, though a little weird, because we don’t know each other. You want to get to know me. Fine, I suppose, but it’s getting weirder, because you’re not my family, and I don’t see any other reason for wanting to get to know me better. And every time I’ve asked, you evade the question. What’s going on here, Christopher?”

“It is… complicated.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Felix snapped. “I deserve to know what’s going on here.”

“You do.” He did. If there was anyone who deserved the truth, it was Felix. But Christopher could not give it to him. Not yet. There were still too many things he wanted to do with Felix, too many things he wanted to show him. He was afraid he would not be able to do those things if he told him the truth now. So he lied. Again.

“I see you, sometimes. While I walk to work. Or when I am running errands. You walk from school to church, do you not?” Felix nodded. “I see you on your school walks, then. You carry a heavy bag and you always look down at the ground. Once, I was waiting for the light to turn green and I saw you approaching and the Septembers were a little ahead of you. You were looking down at the ground again, and I wondered: _when will I finally see his face_? I thought: _he will hear me_. He will somehow have heard me thinking that and he will look up and we will make eye contact and it will be wonderful. But, of course, you never took your eyes off from the ground. What were you doing? Were you mindful to step over the cracks in the pavement?”

Felix snorted, and Christopher knew he had been right in his observations. He had watched Felix for the past few days while he was on these walks, because he had nothing better to do with his days than to follow Felix around. There were no other victims to tend to. Felix was his last. So he trailed Felix wherever he went, careful not to be detected. A few times, Felix had looked up at random times, looking around warily, as if he knew he was being followed. Christopher knew Felix sensed him at these moments. And with the way Felix always clung extra tight to Jisung or Seungmin whenever he had had one of those feelings, Christopher knew he could also sense the trail of death following him, and whenever that happened, he always made sure to stay away from Felix, to walk the other way and stretch the distance between them.

It felt awful, lying to Felix. He had been telling lies for so many centuries, sometimes it was hard, even for him, to untangle truth from deception. But the lies rolled off his tongue, and he felt comfort in falling back into his cleverly constructed lies. They came easier than most truths.

“For weeks, I saw you without really seeing you. Short flashes here, some glances there. I could never remember your face. And then one day, we crossed the street at the same time and I brushed past you and you looked up and I promise, angels sang. And from that moment on, your face was forever carved into my memory.”

Felix did not say anything, but he smiled at the ground. Christopher’s chest ached painfully. _Stop lying_ he told himself. _You will only hurt him more if he realises you are not truthful_. But that smile looked so ridiculously good on Felix, he could not stop himself from spitting out falsehoods that he knew would make Felix blush.

“And then, a few weeks after that encounter, I decided enough was enough. I _had_ to meet you. So I followed you. Weird. Very weird, I realise not that I am saying it out loud. But in my mind, it made sense. I followed you and I realised you kept entering the church and after a few days, I finally made the connection: you lived there. It took me another week before I could muster up the courage to come and see you. And then I was there, a few days ago, standing in the parking lot and looking up at the church. I was about to turn and leave again when I was ambushed by Father Gideon. And well, you know the rest.”

“Why did you want to meet me?” Felix asked quietly, staring at his shoes. His cheeks were red and puffed out. He was still smiling.

“Because something about you set something ablaze in me, and I could not rest easy until I had made an attempt at talking to you.”

At least that was not a lie.

“Why did you tell Father Gideon and Father Albert you were my family?”

“You know about that?”

Felix nodded. “Father Gideon came to me that Monday night after we returned. Told me about your dead aunt and a lost letter or something,” Felix said sternly, frowning at Christopher. “You went through a lot of trouble to convince them you were my cousin.”

“I told them I suspected you to be my cousin because I knew what they would think if I told them the truth. The church does not look kindly upon… closer feelings between two men.”

Felix frowned. “Father Gideon and Father Albert are good men. They wouldn’t judge you for it, if you had those kinds of feelings.” The blush returned to his face.

Christopher’s gaze cooled instantly. “Whether they are good men does not matter. They belong to an organisation that does not tolerate people who are different from them. They preach from a book that was rewritten so many times it is no longer valid and they place themselves higher than others because they have got it in their heads that they are somehow wiser than everyone else because they understand ‘God’s Word’.”

Felix regarded him with an aloof look, pursing his lips and biting his tongue. Eventually, he looked away, and the anxiety trickled back in.

How stupid of Christopher. He had just insulted Felix in more ways than one. Felix had grown up in the church, had been taught by the pastors all his life. He attended Sunday service and Christmas service and Easter service and every other service St. Paul’s provided. He prayed before eating and probably before sleeping as well.

Christopher imagined Felix late at night, his body illuminated only by the flickering candlelight coming from an invisible source. In this room, he was alone. There were no other boys, no beds, no desks, no cabinets. Felix was in the middle of the room. His hands were folded and resting against his nose. His eyes were closed, his lips barely moving in silent prayer. And he was kneeling.

Christopher envisioned gently lifting Felix’ chin to make him look at him. His eyes were slightly dazed from the intrusion, his lips still spread, the words he had wanted to speak suddenly forgotten. Christopher gently caressed his cheek and Felix leaned into his hand, his eyes still on Christopher. And then Christopher’s hand moved, just slightly, enough to lightly wedge his thumb between Felix’s lips. They closed automatically, just like his eyes, and in present time, Christopher had to keep himself from letting a moan escape at the sight of Felix under his complete control: so stunned and utterly submissive to him.

“Are you listening to me?” Felix said, snapping his fingers in front of Christopher’s face. Christopher blinked once and then came back to reality.

“Apologies.”

“I asked if you were listening to me.”

“I was not.”

Felix huffed. “Obviously. Let’s not fight about it. I was having such a good time.”

“Perhaps it is better for us to return to St. Paul’s.”

Felix turned around. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he said, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “We still haven’t seen the south side.”

“Oh, alright then. Let us go.”

Felix did not realise Christopher wanted to leave because being near Felix was suddenly too much to bear. Whenever he blinked, he saw flashes of the boy in that kneeling position, doing something far less innocent than praying, and Christopher shifted uncomfortably at the tightness in his trousers. He was glad he did not wear those skinny jeans Felix wore. He buttoned up his overcoat to hide what was happening to him and followed Felix around, always a pace or two behind.

Christopher wanted to curse the fates. They could have given him any challenge, yet they had made him experience the one emotion he despised more than anything: love. Christopher was in love with Felix.


	8. how to love in times of hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for major character death (sort of), homophobia and sexual content.
> 
> This chapter is on Christopher's backstory, which involves said content warnings. It will also describe Christopher's death as a human (so he doesn't die in the reaper timeline).

The building the reapers resided in was a hotel on the outskirts of town. It had no name, because strictly speaking, it did not exist. It was not listed on any websites or catalogues, and if humans were about to enter the premises, they found themselves utterly confused and immediately turned around to leave, the memory of ever seeing the hotel conveniently erased from their minds.

Despite its lack of a name, most reapers simply called the hotel ‘home’, and Christopher had fallen into the same habit. It was the only place where he could shed his human mannerisms and feel at ease. Simple camaraderie existed within the hotel’s walls, and though Christopher himself never participated in social talks or games with the other reapers, he liked being surrounded by his own, to constantly hear the voices he had grown to find comfort in.

“Still here?” Minho asked. Christopher looked up from his book and regarded his fellow reaper with mild interest.

“Yes.”

Minho grinned and plopped himself down next to Christopher. They sat in the dark and moody lobby, which was filled with reapers coming in and going out. Christopher liked sitting here for a few hours every day, reading his book or listening to the other reapers as they caught up with each other. He usually stayed in the shadows, away from the mass of reapers. Despite his attempts at hiding, some reapers still found him.

“Changbin said you’re facing your challenge.”

“So I am.”

Minho raised an expectant eyebrow. “Well? Tell me!”

“I will not, I hardly see how it is your business.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “You’re always so secretive. There’s nothing wrong with trusting your fellow reapers every now and again. Maybe I can help you. I have some experience with shitty challenges that crush your spirit.”

“Remind me of what your challenge was again?”

“Taking the souls of an entire hospital floor filled with new-born babies,” Minho said simply. “Thirty-three babies.”

Christopher raised an eyebrow. Minho spoke simply of it now, but he knew it had not been such a trivial matter.

In his human life, Minho had been a physician, and he had specialised in paediatrics – it had not yet been established as a branch of medicine back then, but it had been common enough to focus one’s medical practice on only one demographic. One day, he ended up leading an emergency childbirth, which went badly and resulted in the mother and twin babies both dying. It had been a careless mistake on Minho’s part, and for it, he had been executed. That kind of repercussion was unheard of now, but in Minho’s lifetime, this had been a fair punishment.

It was fitting that the fates chose something relating to childbirth as Minho’s reaper’s challenge, and Christopher realised the fates had done the same to him.

“Do you still think about it often?” Christopher asked.

“Every day.” Minho sighed melancholically. “But the end is near. For both of us,” Minho reminded Christopher. “I only have six more left to collect. You?”

“One.”

“Ah.” Minho saw the dread on Christopher’s face and decided to change to subject. “Doesn’t it scare you? The thought of retirement, I mean. We’ve done this for so long.”

Christopher longer than Minho, but only by a few years. They had spent most of their careers working alongside each other, and whenever a certain case had been particularly rough, they would come to each other and listen while the other talked. No words of solace were ever given, as they had long ago realised they held no significance any more, but the thought of not having to suffer alone was comforting.

“I am ready to rest,” Christopher said, which had been true, and was still true, but a sliver of doubt still rose up in his mind. It had been there ever since meeting Felix.

“As am I,” Minho said. He picked up the two glasses in front of them, which filled with a yellow-ish liquid the moment his fingers touched the glass, and handed one of them to Christopher. “Here’s to resting easy and finding each other in our second life.”

“Cheers,” Christopher said, clinking his glass against Minho’s. They drank the alcohol in silence, both thinking about the resolution, and the implications it held.

For Christopher, the decision to become a reaper had been made out of grief, anger, sadness and vengeance. The moment after his death, he had been approached by a reaper, his senior, with the offer of guaranteed revenge in exchange for his service as a reaper. Christopher, thinking only of the damage he could do to his prejudiced and discriminatory society that had caused his unjustified death, had accepted without thought. He was promised revenge, and revenge he had received. But the thrill of seeing his foes suffer and die a slow death had long ago left him, and his only consolation now was the promise of his second life.

After his retirement, his soul would be handed off to the fates, who were left in charge of reincarnating it. If he passed his reaper’s challenge without having disappointed the fates, they would make sure to give him a better life than his first one, which would not be all that difficult.

“I hope you’ll be able to face your challenge head-on, and that you will be granted a good life,” Minho said, standing up, clapping Christopher on his shoulder.

“And the same to you.” They bid each other goodbye, Minho off to collect his fifth-to last soul, and Christopher off to his apartment.

The lift played a happy sort of tune, one which had been stuck in Christopher’s mind for years now. It kept him company on long walks, and late at night when sleep would not come to him and the overwhelming nothingness that was his thoughts immersed him in darkness: the tune would start playing in his head, softly at first, and then louder. It had become an unmissable buffer in Christopher's death, and he was forever grateful for the hotel for not changing it while he rode up to the thirteenth floor. Lucky number.

His apartment was a reflection of himself, which was to say, it was bleak and cold. It faced the north, which meant he got minimal sun, and his apartment was usually devoid of any natural light. It did not matter now, as it was pitch-black outside, and the moon invisible behind the thick layer of clouds. There were no decorations on the wall or personal touches strewn throughout the space. It was a simple one-bedroom apartment, with a kitchen he did not use and a bathroom which was spotless. Only his desk, which stood in the corner of his bedroom, had any character. It was a black mahogany desk, and placed on it was a stack of classics – classics now, considered contemporaries when he bought them – a map of the city, and the notebook he had written about his life.

Christopher sat down on his neatly made bed with the notebook in his hands. It was a dull grey, with his initials pressed into it. _C.B_. He did not remember where the B in his name stood for. Its pages were yellowed and torn, and the notebook smelled vaguely of coffee, spices, and the fragrance old books usually carried with them.

Christopher flicked through the pages, not really reading anything. His thumb stopped on no page in particular – that was a lie: he had read this little notebook so many times, he knew the exact contents of every single page – and instead of moving his thumb, he started reading.

A word jumped out at him, or rather a name, and it sparked an image of a face he had not thought about for a long time. Christopher had forgotten all but one name from his life as a human.

_Oliver._

Though Christopher had forgotten most of his human life over time, his and Oliver’s story haunted him forever. The details were fuzzy, so he read the thorough chapter he had written on it and willed the specifics to come back to him.

Christopher and Oliver met in the same place they would eventually die. The market square was packed with people, as it usually was on the third Saturday of June. It marked the start of summer, and the town’s locals – back then it had not yet been large enough to be called a city – gathered in large groups to buy sweet treats and the newest silks, play games and  
socialise.

Christopher had come with his family: his parents, and his younger siblings. He was annoyed that he had to spend his free Saturday with his family. This time could have been better spent brushing up on his history knowledge of which he had an exam coming up. But his parents had insisted he come with, and there was nothing he could about it. He roamed the narrow pathways that had been created between the stalls in an effort to get rid of his family, and it was in one of these makeshift aisles he bumped into Oliver.

He had seen Oliver before in church, where the man had always stood out in the crowd because of his good looks and bright smile. Oliver was somewhat of a celebrity amongst the young women in the church. They gushed over his appearance and giggled whenever he spoke.

“Oliver is the finest bachelor in this town!” they would cry, waving and laughing to gain his attention. Publicly, Christopher scowled at these antics, but privately, he quite agreed with the ladies.

Oliver was the son of an important official in town, which meant he belonged to an influential family. He attended fancy parties and wore the finest clothes, but there was no trace of arrogance around him. Oliver was humble and kind. He spent his free days visiting charities or otherwise feeding the growing crowd of homeless folk. His laugh was light and casual, and it gave Christopher butterflies in his stomach whenever he heard it.

Oliver was tall, unlike Christopher, who was – hopefully – still growing. His hair was a dark brown colour, and unlike the other men in town, it went past his ears. Sometimes he tied it back, but Christopher loved it the most when he let it flow without a care, and a sudden gust of wind would force him to claw at his face to retrieve the stray strands of hair from his mouth.

On Sundays, Christopher very subtly tried to steer his family in Oliver’s direction so they could sit closer to him, but his family liked sitting near the Park family, who always sat near the entrance, which meant Christopher had to make do with staring at the back of Oliver’s head, which was still gorgeous, but not as pretty as his face. Often enough, he had tried talking to Oliver, but the man was always surrounded by a dozen other people who wanted his attention, so Christopher would hang back for a while and then disappear with his family, telling himself he would try harder next time.

Right now, Christopher profusely apologised to the man – he had not yet realised it was Oliver – bending down and picking up the things the man had dropped as a result of Christopher’s clumsiness.

“It is alright,” the man said with a laugh, and Christopher’s head shot up at the familiarity of it.

“Oliver,” he breathed. He blinked and hurriedly gave back the dropped things.

Oliver frowned for a moment. “I apologise, I did not realise we had met before.”

“Oh, no!” Christopher said, his head full and empty at the same time. Nothing made sense right now. “We have not. Not really, anyway. We belong to the same church,” Christopher said quietly, his head bent down.

“Oh, yes! You are the oldest Bang son, correct?” Oliver questioned.

Christopher looked up with a big smile on his face. “You know me? I mean, yes! Yes, I am.”

“It is nice to meet you, Christopher. My father knows your father and has nothing but positive things to say about him. I must go now, but I look forward to seeing you in church tomorrow.” He gave Christopher a small wave and turned the corner.

Christopher stood there for a few minutes, his own hand still raised before his sister found him. She dragged him back to the family, where he excitedly recounted his meeting with Oliver. His father was thrilled at the news of Oliver’s father thinking highly of him, despite only having met a few times, and the next day, they sat directly behind Oliver’s family in church.

Oliver turned in the pew before service, and he and Christopher had a casual conversation about their studies. Christopher had just started, Oliver had recently completed his and was now working for his father. Christopher’s sister ogled Oliver, which the latter had noticed, making him shift a bit uncomfortably in his seat. When he was not looking, Christopher hit his sister around the head, and she did not look at the stunning man again.

After service, which Christopher had barely paid any attention to, he took his time collecting his things, and he noticed Oliver was doing the same thing. Their fathers talked about politics, their mothers about the change of seasons, and their siblings trailed behind their parents, ready to get out of the church and into the sun.

Oliver jerked his head to the side, gesturing for Christopher to follow him. They exited the church through the side doors, which lead to the empty gardens, where they were surrounded by old statues and wildly grown plants. They talked of their family, school, dreams, and everything else that came to their minds. Afterwards, when the sun had left them and the shadows provided a chill, Oliver walked him home, and he lightly touched Christopher’s shoulder before saying goodbye.

The next Sunday, they performed the same routine. They waited for their families to leave the church and then subtly made their own exit to the garden. Christopher talked about his exam results and his father’s wish of him taking over the shop, and Oliver talked about his boring work duties and even more boresome parties he had been required to attend.

The following week, they did not wait for their families to leave. They walked to the garden in a relaxed manner, where they easily found their usual spot and settled down. This time, they talked of their fears, of being stuck in the same town forever, of meeting their parents’ expectations and simultaneously not meeting them. They discussed their shared dreams of exploring the world and learning new languages.

When the sun dipped below the church, and shadow had once again found them, Oliver kissed Christopher for the first time. It had not come as a surprise to either of the men. They had skirted around their feelings for each other out of fear, but hidden behind the enormous church, they felt a little braver.

Even now, Christopher still remembered the kiss vividly. It had been his first, and the fact that it was with someone he had liked for so many years made it even more remarkable.

Oliver took the lead, softly moving his lips against Christopher’s until the latter opened his mouth to let in Oliver’s tongue. They kissed like that for a few minutes, Christopher’s hands running through Oliver’s locks, Oliver’s hands on Christopher’s waist, rubbing circles and squeezing gently.

A sound from inside the church broke them apart, and they left the garden and walked home in awkward silence. For the whole week leading up to Sunday, Christopher feared Oliver did not like him anymore, that he had made a mistake. But then during service, where they were now sat next to each other, Oliver lightly touched his hand to Christopher’s, and afterwards, they were in the garden again, Christopher trying to hold in a moan while Oliver trailed kisses across his neck, one hand down Christopher’s trousers.

Christopher liked how gently Oliver started out but eventually became rougher at Christopher’s insistence. His hand lightly teased Christopher’s waistband, sliding just a little lower, hovering over Christopher’s bulge, before Christopher took the hand and placed it against his cock, palming himself with Oliver’s hand.

Oliver looked at him with a dazed look, which quickly turned alert when he heard Christopher’s soft whimpers of pleasure. He pressed down on Christopher’s cock, and bit his neck while whispering things in his ear which made him even harder.

“Such a dirty boy.”

“You want me, do you not?”

“So good for me.”

“I know you will feel so nice around my cock.”

Oliver fucked him slowly and lovingly, whispering encouragements as he entered Christopher. Christopher had never felt so full of love, and tolerated the pain because of it. Their first time was filled with soft sounds and tiny movements, as they were both afraid too much sound and movement would alert the pastors inside the church. But the times after that, when they had found private little spots where Christopher could scream as loud as he wanted and Oliver could put him in positions which felt so incredibly good, they enjoyed  
each other for hours at a time.

Their lustful summer turned into a serious winter, where they earnestly talked about their future, and what it would mean to be together. Neither of them felt courageous enough to run away, not yet, so they stayed each other’s secret for a little while longer.

The following summer, on their one-year-anniversary, they made love for hours, telling each other how much they loved each other. Sounds of their whimpers and panting filled the room as they melted into one. It was that night they decided they were going to run away soon, to a town where no one knew them and where they could build their life however they wanted.

The resolution had filled Christopher with determination and hope, but as he now knew, good things were not meant to last.

The following Sunday, Christopher sat next to Oliver, just like always, trying not to touch him too often. The service started off normally, but Christopher should have noticed the way the pastor kept throwing looks at the two of them, should have noticed the peculiar sermon subject. He should have known they knew, and he should have pulled Oliver out of the church to run away right then and there. They could have had a chance at a good life.

But Christopher did not notice, because he was too busy thinking of Oliver, and his large hands on his own small waist and the wicked things they would do later tonight.

It was towards the end of service when hell broke loose. The pastor outed Christopher and Oliver, who stood no chance of defending themselves. The pastor told the crowd what they had been doing, how long they had been doing it, and how passionately they did it.

“The signs are right here,” the pastor yelled out at the angry crowd, and he continued listing off every location where they had made love, the names of every witness who had seen a lingering touch or hasty kiss. Christopher was _horrified_. The crowd yelled at them, threw booklets in their direction and cursed them to suffer in hell for eternity.

At the end of it, Oliver was grabbed by his father, Christopher by a person he had never met before, and they were wrenched apart. Their arms were outstretched, desperately trying to touch each other one last time – because they knew, they knew it would be the last time.

Christopher and Oliver were kept in separate rooms in the church. No visitors were allowed. Christopher was glad for it. He was not sure he wanted to experience his family’s disappointment first-hand.

Three days after their imprisonment, the pastor brought news of their punishment. A trial had been held, attended by most of the town, and they had been sentenced to death. It did not come as news for Christopher. He had known already.

He had known that first afternoon after Sunday service, when he and Oliver shared looks for a little longer than appropriate and they touched each other in places normal friends do not touch each other, that if they were ever found out, they would not survive the repercussions.

The only solace was that their executions had been set for the same time, so they would not have to live without each other.

On the day of their execution, they were led out to the market square in their dirty clothes. By the looks of it, the entire town had come. Once again, they yelled at the couple and threw rotten food at them. Christopher saw his family in the middle of the crowd and quickly looked away. He did not want to think about them.

“I am sorry,” Oliver said to Christopher.

“Do not be. I do not regret my time with you. I would do it all over again if I knew I was going to be this happy with you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They did not offer any last words to the angry crowd. The nooses were tied around their neck, and after the office’s signal, the trapdoors in the floor fell open. Their necks broke on impact, and Christopher was still feeling the pain of it when the reaper appeared in front of him.

Afterwards, Christopher had tried looking for Oliver. Of course he had, how could he not? But the fates owed him nothing, and would not help him with his search for his lost lover. In the end, he never found Oliver’s reincarnation, and he had given up long ago.

Now, Christopher closed the notebook, hiding it away behind the other books on his desk. He could not help but feel the fates intended for him to relive his first love again, and the thought of it broke him so badly, he cried for the first time in centuries.


	9. worker's district

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for bullying and mental health

Christopher dreamt of Oliver that night. He dreamt of their first meeting, their first touch, their first kiss and their last one. The atmosphere was dark, on the cusp of day and night, and despite the happy occasions, no one smiled. The people in his dream only cried or scowled, and it tinted his dream with sad nostalgia and strange foreboding.

During the echo of their execution, Oliver’s full eyebrows and high cheekbones twisted into a sharp jawline and freckled button nose, and his face continued to change until it had fully formed into Felix, and even the voice’s pitch lowered to match Felix’.

The dream changed from reality as well. Oliver had been composed and strong during the lead-up to their execution, but Felix cried while the officer led him up to the platform, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Christopher’s stomach gave a painful lurch at the sight of it, one he had not felt on his actual death day: he had been mostly devoid of any emotion.

Christopher wanted to comfort Felix, to gently hold his face and whisper worthless words in his ear. But he stayed rooted to the spot and looked on while Felix became more hysterical. The nooses had been tied, the officer’s hand on the lever to open the trapdoors. The crowd yelled, he could see that much, but the only sound Christopher could hear came from Felix.

Christopher closed his eyes. He did not want to see this any longer. Somewhere in the crowd, something rang, the sound so foreign to Christopher he opened his eyes again and stared at the mass of people. None of them seemed to notice the sound, so he turned to Felix, who had stopped crying completely, his eyes calculating and serious.

“Answer. I need you,” Felix said, and his dream distorted into a flash of white and then fully disappeared.

Christopher laid in his bed for a few moments, waiting for his surroundings to become clear to him. He had forgotten to close the curtains, and in the few hours he had slept, the moon had crept up from behind the clouds. It shone into his bedroom, illuminating the space enough for Christopher to spot the flat shape of his phone on his desk. It was lying face down, but light came from it, and Christopher realised _this_ had been the ringing sound, which meant someone was calling him.

He scrambled up, got twisted in the thick duvets, and fell to the ground while trying to get to his phone. Meanwhile, the phone kept ringing, and he was painfully aware it had been for a while now, and that it would have to stop eventually. He got to the device while it was still ringing, and hastily clicked on the ‘accept’ button, already knowing who would be on the other side of the line.

“Felix?” Christopher breathed, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah, it’s me,” the voice on the other end of the line said. It was Felix – Christopher could never forget that alluring voice – but it sounded gruff and slightly slurred. He was drunk.

“Are you alright?” Christopher asked, worry creeping into his voice. He quickly lifted the phone from his ear to look at the time. Just past two a.m. What was he doing up this late? Had he been having a nightmare, too?

“Oh, I’m absolutely splendid,” Felix said in an emotionless voice. There was other noise in the background, metal rattling and cars tooting and incoherent angry shouting.

“Where are you?” Christopher asked, fully concerned right now. It was well into the night on a school night, and even if it was not, he was certain Father Gideon did not allow the boys to be out until two a.m. by themselves, no matter the occasion.

“Not sure,” Felix said. “Downtown. Worker’s District, I think. Yeah, Worker’s.”

Christopher put the phone on speaker while hurriedly changing into clean clothes. His socks were a mismatched shade of grey, and his jumper might have been inside out, but he cared little. He had to get to Felix as soon as possible.

Worker’s District had been known as many things over the centuries, but no matter the name, it had always been the grittiest and darkest part of the city, welcoming the most dangerous people and substances with open arms. Whenever tragedy hit the city, it hit Worker’s District the hardest.

Nearly two-hundred years ago, the district had become the heart of the illegally smuggled but highly profitable opium trade while the Chinese and British fought over commercial privileges and territories in China. And centuries before that, when a deadly epidemic – all epidemics were deadly back then – ravaged the country, Worker’s District was the first of the city’s districts to reach a death toll of over five thousand people. The epidemic forced the reapers to stop their soul-collecting for an unforeseeable time. In the end, the epidemic had taken more souls than Christopher would ever collect in his entire career as a reaper.

Now, Worker’s District was infamous for its intricate underground network of criminal organisations. Bars and clubs served as poorly held fronts for unorganised crews, and the organised folks flaunted their criminal status like royalty, walking the street with tattoos on their arms and guns in their hands. By far the most lucrative crime in Worker’s was its drug trade, which subsidized most establishments in the city, but it was no stranger to weapon smuggling, illegal fights, and shady gambling houses either.

How the hell Felix ended up there, Christopher did not want to think about.

“What are you doing there?” he asked.

“I got drunk and sort of lost my way.”

“Are you in danger?” Christopher asked sharply.

“Currently hiding behind a dumpster, so, no. Not really.”

“What happened?”

Felix hummed in response, which did not help Christopher in the slightest. The younger boy started singing a happy tune, mispronouncing the words and completely missing the beat. With each syllable, his voice got louder.

“Felix, I need you to stay silent,” Christopher warned. He pulled his coat over his jumper and picked up the phone, already walking to the door.

“Listen to me, Felix, are you listening?”

Felix hummed again, but this one was of understanding rather than drunkenness.

“I need you to send me your location.”

“How? Can’t read, remember?” Felix sounded resentfully bitter.

“Look at your screen, then.”

There was a shuffling sound, and then Felix’ voice, a little farther away. “I’m looking.”

Christopher raised his own voice so Felix could still hear him. “Do you see the little paperclip at the bottom? Click on it.”

“So many pictures,” Felix murmured.

“I am aware. I need you to click only one of them, alright? It is the one that looks a little like a balloon without a string. It has a circle in it.”

“Oh no!” Felix said.

“What happened?” Christopher asked, stopping in front of the lift and urgently pressing the button.

“It’s got a hole in it. It’s going to deflate.” Felix sounded on the verge of tears.

“It will not deflate. Have you clicked it?”

“Yeah. Do you know where I am now?”

“Not yet, love,” Christopher said, stopping short at the pet name. Love? Where had that come from? “There is a box that says ‘share live location’. Can you read that?”

Felix hummed again, and then it went silent for a good twenty seconds. “Yes. I think so. Have you got it?”

Christopher’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. A map with a blinking dot appeared on his screen. Christopher zoomed out to figure out where exactly Felix was.

“Stay there, Felix. I am coming for you.”

Christopher did not have his own car, but he knew Minho did have one, so he stalked to the underground parking and scanned rows upon rows of cars for the sleek, black car Minho drove. Unfortunately, most reapers preferred to adhere to the dark and deathly stereotypes humans held about them, so the majority of the cars parked were black, if not sleek. In the end, Christopher tediously read the license plates. Once he got to the right car, he simply pulled on the door handle to unlock it.

The ride to Worker’s District normally did not take longer than twenty minutes, but Christopher was anxious, so he made sure to press the gas pedal all the way down and reduce that time to ten minutes.

He found Felix half-asleep behind an overflowing dumpster, his arms around his knees and his head against the wall. He was not dressed warmly enough in just a simple jacket without a scarf or hat. Upon closer inspection, he saw smudges of dried blood on his face.

“Up you go,” Christopher said as he pulled Felix up. He was concerned by the lack of fight coming from Felix, and with it the knowledge of how easily someone could have taken him without being seen. He giggled and roamed his hands over Christopher’s chest. Christopher retrieved his handkerchief from his pockets and wetted it with his tongue before wiping away the blood.

Inside the car, Felix almost immediately fell asleep with his head lolling against the window. Christopher was not going to let him off that easy.

“Felix,” he said, gently shaking him awake. “What were you doing here?” he asked carefully.

“Didn’t mean to go here,” he muttered, his playfulness gone. “Just ended up here.”

“What happened?”

Felix took a big breath, blinking against the light from the street lamp Christopher had parked under. “It’s all a bit fuzzy,” he said, rubbing his temples with his index- and middle finger.

“Tell me everything you remember. We will piece it together as we go along.”

“Well, this afternoon, or yesterday now, I guess. It doesn’t really matter. After school, some guys asked me to come hang out with them. Now, I’m not popular by any means, and I haven’t really got any friends other than the St. Paul’s boys, so when they asked me, I just thought ‘why not?’. Like you said, I don’t really know a lot about the world and I don’t know a lot of people, so I thought this could be a good way to get me started, you know? I didn’t think they would –” Felix broke down, hiccupping and sobbing at the same time. Christopher said nothing – he had never been great at comforting – only passed his handkerchief to Felix to wipe his snot away with.

“Anyway,” Felix continued. “They asked me to hang out, so I told Jisung I’d be back before dinner. Mind you, I don’t know these guys well at all, only that they’re in the same year as me. So we’re walking into town, and they’re kind of shit-talking this group of popular girls or something, and I’m already way out of my depth and trying to come up with excuses to leave, but then they start asking me questions about myself and they seem really interested in me, which rarely ever happens.

“So I’m telling them about the projects I’m working on and my hobbies and where I live and all that stuff, and they were being so nice. And then one of them went into a liquor store and bought a bottle of alcohol. I’ve never drunk alcohol before but they said it was fine, and that it wasn’t strong and that I wouldn’t get drunk unless I drank the whole bottle by myself.”

Christopher could already tell where this was going. Felix had wanted to be liked, had wanted to fit in, and so he had trusted these boys.

“I really didn’t want to drink, but they forced me, and I didn’t want to make them upset, so I drank. We used a lid as a shot glass. I’m not sure how many shots I took, but I guess a lot, cause from there on out I don’t really remember what happened,” he said quickly.

Christopher knew this to be a lie. He could see it in Felix’ eyes, or rather, the way Felix was avoiding his. “You can tell me, Felix. I will not judge you for anything that has happened.”

Felix hesitated, but eventually gave in. They both knew Christopher would not let it go until they had come to the bottom of it. “They continued asking me questions. They asked me why I was never there during tests and why I was never asked to read out loud in class. Not a lot of people know I can’t read or write, so I’m not in the habit of telling anyone, but I guess because of the alcohol I wasn’t thinking straight, and so I told them. And then they started laughing, and I knew I was in trouble.”

Felix rubbed his arms to warm himself up. “Then they started asking about St. Paul’s and how long I’d lived there, and if I had any family. And they were really nasty, saying that my family didn’t want me because I’m too stupid. And then when I told them they were wrong because I’d lived in the orphanage since I was a baby, they started getting angry. I wanted to leave but I didn’t know where we were and then suddenly they got up and started walking and said they’d take me home to St. Paul’s. So I followed them.”

“But they did not take you home,” Christopher said.

Felix shook his head. “They left me somewhere on the corner of a street and told me to wait, said they were going to get me some food. And then they left. And I waited there for what must’ve been an hour, and people were looking at me because I was stumbling. And by then it was already dark and I realised they weren’t coming back. So I started walking, thinking I’d recognise my surroundings if I just kept walking.”

He started crying again, the words coming out between sobs. “It was so dark I couldn’t see where I was and I couldn’t read the signs or my phone because I was too drunk. And I asked where I was but no one wanted to help me and then I fell and there was blood, so I went into an alleyway and just stayed there. I was just so fucking tired. I am so fucking tired.”

“Felix,” Christopher started, “you could have died from hypothermia. It is freezing outside.” Felix shrugged and numbly stared out of the window, muttering something under his breath, quietly enough so that Christopher could not hear it, and the reaper was glad for it, for he did not think the words were especially kind. “I will take you back to St. Paul’s,” he said softly.

They drove in silence. Felix had stopped crying, but he was still drunk and upset, and Christopher did not want to say anything that would further distress him. In the end, it was Felix who broke the silence.

“I just wanted to make new friendships, meet new people,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse from crying. “I’m sick of being an orphan, sick of not being able to read, sick of being stuck in one place with no prospects of it getting better. Sick of the same mind-numbing routine every day. And the worst thing is that I know it won’t get any better. Makes me question what I’m still doing here.”

The implications of the last statement hung in the air, thickening with every second Christopher did not respond in furious rebuttal; claiming that there was so much left in life for Felix to experience. A few days ago, he would have said it intensity so convincingly it could have sparked a new will to live. But now the life laid heavy on his heart, and he could not make himself to speak it: partly because he did not want to lie to Felix anymore, but mostly because he could not have such an impactful conversation while Felix was drunk and would most likely not remember it in the morning.

So he said nothing, and let Felix bask in his own despair until they arrived at St. Paul’s.

There was still a light burning in the church when Christopher stopped in the parking lot.

“I guess I can’t sneak in undetected,” Felix said.

“I will walk with you.”

Christopher made for the main entrance, but Felix pulled him to the side of the building. The weeds here were overgrown, and it smelled of rotten eggs. Felix pulled the wooden door open, wincing as it creaked loudly. The door led to the kitchen, which was dark and abandoned. He let the door fall close with a thud.

Rushing footsteps echoed through the church, and both men braced themselves for confrontation.

“I hope it’s Father Gideon,” Felix murmured. Christopher silently agreed.

The kitchen door opened and light from the entrance streamed into the room, illuminating Father Gideon’s small frame. He was still wearing his clerical clothing, and a worried expression to match it.

“Felix?” he asked, squinting into the darkness.

“Yeah,” Felix answered, shuffling through the kitchen to meet Father Gideon. Christopher followed.

“Where have you been?” Father Gideon cried. He grabbed Felix and pulled him close to him in an embrace. Felix started crying again and buried his face in the pastor’s chest.

“What happened? We looked all over for you!” Father Gideon said. “Jisung said you left school with some boys.” Felix merely shook his head, unable to answer. “We called the school, asked them for the boys’ phone numbers. They all said you had wandered off at some point and that they couldn’t find you anymore.”

Father Gideon finally noticed Christopher, still half-hidden in the shadows. “Who are you?” he asked, not unkindly but impatient nonetheless. Christopher stepped forward, and recognition lit up Father Gideon’s eyes. “Christopher! What in the world is going on?”

A telephone rang in the distance. “I have to get that. It’s probably the police calling back,” Father Gideon said distraughtly. At the mention of the police, Felix looked up, using his sleeve to wipe away the blood.

“Police? You called the police?”

“Of course I called the police!” Father Gideon said. “It’s three a.m., I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!” he cried out, making a cross over his chest. “Thank the Lord you’re alright.

“Felix, you go upstairs and change. Try not to wake the boys, though I suspect they’re all still awake. Don’t talk to them, Felix. I don’t want them to see you in this state,” Father Gideon said sternly, obviously hinting at his drunkenness. “Christopher, you come with me to my office. I want to hear from you both what happened, and no leaving out any details.” He gently pushed Felix out of the kitchen. “Really, what were you thinking?” he muttered to himself.

Christopher followed Father Gideon to his office, his mind racing with how he could make this up to Felix. Felix’ time was running out, and Christopher wanted to make sure he was going to spend every moment from now on in a worthwhile manner. He did not want Felix to leave this world with regrets.

Christopher’s heart sank as he realised it was only fifteen more days until January first, which really was not enough time to live a life.


	10. penny for your thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for talk of mental health, in particular depression

Once again, Christopher found himself bathing in the uncomforting presence of St. Paul’s, trying not to breathe in its stench. It did not physically smell unpleasant, but Christopher had always thought there hung a particular vile scent in the air, and figured it must have been the deceit more than anything else.

He had been waiting at the entrance again, almost a complete replica of Thursday’s scene, including him anxiously checking his phone. Father Albert had come to close the door because of the draft, and he had chided Christopher for his startling concealment, announcing that from now on he was only allowed to wait in the church if he actually came inside. Father Albert had waved to the kitchen door, but Christopher had politely declined and taken a seat in one of the pews at the back. It was almost time for tea, and he knew that if he took a spot in the kitchen now, he would not be able to get either one of the Fathers off his back.

Just ten hours ago, Father Gideon had kept Christopher and Felix in his office for an hour, forcing them to tell the story once, twice and then thrice, making sure he got all the details. After that, Felix had been sent up to bed, but Christopher had been anchored down by Father Albert’s continuous questions and his admittance that he often worried about Felix, which worried Christopher in turn.

According to Father Gideon, Felix had always been the most unstable of the orphans. Sudden bursts of sadness, disinterest in the other boys, unwillingness to get out of bed in the morning (and the afternoon and evening), swearing and yelling, staying out late, and the general disrespect he showed – “those kinds of things” Father Gideon had said with an air of casualness and importance, as if it was simple teenager behaviour. Christopher had asked for more symptoms to get a better understanding of what Felix had been going through, but Father Gideon had looked at him funnily, as if he could not believe the words coming out of Christopher’s mouth.

“Symptoms belong to diseases. Felix is not ill, he is simply misguided. He needs to pray to God and let Him in, for only He can calm his unfaithful heart and bring him peace in his life.”

That had been the last thing Father Gideon had said to him. Christopher had stalked out of the office without so much as a goodbye, his mind seething. He had liked Father Gideon, better than Father Albert anyway, but now he had to resist the urge to lay his hand on the pastor’s forehead and erase his soul from this world.

Though Felix had seemed fairly normal, or rather: healthy, to Christopher – meaning that he did not present any clear signs of mental illness – and even appeared to be happy, last night’s incident put things in perspective for Christopher. Of course, such an occurrence would be frightening for anyone, but the things Felix had said in the car last night made Christopher wonder how long he had suffered already, and how much of it must have been endured in silence.

Christopher closed his eyes and could almost pretend he was in his own apartments, surrounded by the oppressive silence he had inflicted upon himself. It was Saturday, and the  
church was exceptionally devoid of any noise. Most of the boys had gone to the park a few blocks from St. Paul’s to celebrate the start of their Christmas holiday by making deformed snowmen and attacking each other with balls of sticky snow. Christopher had spotted them just half an hour ago, but unsurprisingly, Felix had not been among them.

Felix was not picking up his phone either, which did not particularly worry Christopher, but it did leave him in a state of restlessness. He wanted to know how Felix was doing, whether or not he would laugh about it and pretend he was fine.

Christopher cast a furtive glance to the door to the first floor, which he could only partly see from where he was sitting, but it remained stubbornly closed. He had half the mind to just trot upstairs, only Felix would be there anyway, but he did not think imposing on Felix’ privacy would be a smart move to make right now.

Christopher took a deep breath and settled back. His stomach had been in knots since last night and his heart gave a painful lurch every time he thought of Felix drunkenly crying, blood smeared on his face and his arms clutched around his body for both warmth and safekeeping. He did not like seeing Felix like that, so small and hurt, but he would not allow himself to let his mind dwell to the happier versions of Felix he had seen over the past week. Felix had always had to hide his pain, Christopher did not want to be another person who he could not open up to. So Christopher replayed last night’s events in his head, committing the way Felix had cried both loudly and softly to memory, burning the image into his mind until he saw it even with his eyes fully open.

A door slamming behind him pulled him from his twisted daydream, and he had to blink against the light for a few seconds to ground himself. He turned around to see a mop of dirty-blond hair attached to a small body cross the entrance to enter the kitchen, and Christopher hurried to catch up with Felix.

He was settled against the counter, watching the kettle on the stove, as if prolonged eye contact with it would make the water boil faster.

“Did you sleep well?” Christopher asked, leaning against the doorpost. Felix startled and turned around, his cheeks immediately heating up. He quickly turned around again, but his posture was not as relaxed as it had been before.

“Pounding headache,” Felix murmured.

“I would expect so, yes.”

“If you’re going to scold me, just get it over with. I’d like to drink my tea in silence.”

“I will not scold you, but I do have a question.”

“Do ask,” Felix muttered, his eyes back on the kettle, though Christopher assumed he was watching the reaper in the kettle’s distorted reflection.

“Were you truthful yesterday, when you told me what happened?”

Felix whipped around again, his brows furrowed in a frown. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice high and shaking. “Are you saying I made that whole story up?”

“No, that is not what I am implying. I am merely asking if you lied about any particular detail.”

Felix glanced away. “I didn’t.”

“You told me that it was your first time drinking alcohol, but it was not, was it?” Felix did not answer the question. He turned around again and removed the kettle from the stove. The water had not boiled yet, but Felix poured it into a mug anyway, his hands shaking.

“You said one of the boys bought the bottle of alcohol and that they forced you to drink it. And afterwards, they left you on the street to find your own way home.” Felix refused to look at him. “I was waiting for you at the entrance about half an hour ago when I heard Father Gideon phone the parents of the boys. I only heard snippets of the conversation, but it was enough to know that you lied to me.”

“You believe their words over mine?” Felix asked. There was no trace of indignation or accusation in his voice. They both knew he was fighting a lost cause.

“Why did you lie to me, Felix?”

“Because you would judge me otherwise, and you would be disappointed in me and not want to be around me anymore.”

Christopher shook his head and pulled out a chair, gesturing to the other chair to Felix.

“Tell me what happened. And be honest this time, I will know if you are not.”

Felix sat down, his hands closed around the mug for heat. “They did ask me to hang out. And they were being assholes, saying that stuff to me. But we were sober then. They left after like an hour, apparently bored by my lack of response.”

“What did you do?”

“I’d nicked a twenty from one of the guys’ pockets right before they left. It was poking out, so an easy grab. Then I walked to Worker’s District. It was pretty close by, and I’d been there before, so I knew how to get there. Bought a bottle of booze, got incredibly drunk, fell against the dumpster. Drank some more. Called you.” He let out a laugh, an ugly one; too high-pitched and forced, and it hurt both of their ears. “I called you to say goodbye, you know that? I thought I’d die. If not from alcohol poisoning, then from hypothermia, and if not from hypothermia, then from a gunshot or knife to the stomach.”

Christopher frowned. Felix had not sounded particularly suicidal on the phone, but he had spent a large part of his childhood and teenage years suffering from an undiagnosed mental illness – if not more than one – so Christopher could not accurately judge what had transpired during that phone call.

“Why did you change your mind? You sent me your location willingly,” Christopher pointed out.

“I didn’t think you were going to pick up. It’d been ringing for like twenty seconds already. I told myself after every ring that I would hang up, but I couldn’t do it. And then you picked up, and the way you said my name like you were out of breath, as if you knew I was on the verge of losing my life. It was like I was hanging from the edge of a cliff, losing the will to hold on, knowing there would be no one around to help me, and then you suddenly pulled me up to safety, and you never let me go and kept your arm around to protect me.”

Christopher swallowed the lump in his throat that had quickly formed. So far, Christopher had thought their connection had been quite one-sided, but Felix trusted Christopher enough to tell the truth and to confess that it had been him to pull him out of that dark hole.

“I am glad you are still here,” Christopher said, his voice quiet and small. “I dreamt of you last night,” he said, for no apparent reason, and he looked down the moment Felix looked up. He wished he could take it back the second the words left his mouth, but they had been said, and Christopher now had to make it seem it was not a big deal.

“What happened? In your dream?” Felix asked curiously.

Christopher hesitated. Do not lie. Not this time.

“I was dreaming of someone else, someone I used to know a long time ago, and about something that had happened to us. Then their face turned into yours. And the dream continued on like normal, replaying everything that had happened. But my friend now had your face, and it was incredibly confusing to me.”

Felix must have picked up on his solemn tone, because he smiled sadly. “Bad ending?”

“Terrible.”

“Do you think that’s some sort of foreboding for us?” he asked. Christopher’s imagination went wild with the possibilities of that question. Yes. Yes, it will be because you will die regardless of whether or not I take your soul, but I will do it because If I do not then I will have to stay in this world until I cease to exist, and I do not want to exist in a world where you do not, so I will kill you, and I am certain I will carry that guilt with me into my next life.

But Christopher could not tell him that, nor did he want to lie any more than he had to, so he stayed quiet.

“What do you think is wrong with me?” Felix asked, his eyes focussed on Christopher with a glint in them, challenging him to react like Father Gideon and probably Father Albert would. Perhaps Felix did not know Christopher well enough and was truly expecting a similar reaction to those he had always gotten, or perhaps he was guarding himself against getting hurt, the arguments already forming in his head.

“Why would something be wrong?”

Felix raised an eyebrow and chewed his lip. “You think my behaviour is normal?”

“Normal for your circumstances.”

“Aha!” Felix said, gently tapping the table. “So there is something wrong with me.”

“I did not say that. Do not twist my words.”

Felix leaned back in his chair. “What are my circumstances, then, according to you?” Felix asked, a lazy smile on his lips. He was enjoying this.

“Well, you are depressed.”

Felix’ smile fell. “You think?”

Christopher nodded. “I am not a doctor, of course, but you have symptoms which are consistent with that of depression.” Felix considered this. “There is nothing wrong with having depression. It is not something shameful.”

Felix snorted. “Tell that to Father Gideon and Father Albert.”

“They are blinded by their religion,” Christopher said fiercely.

“And you don’t think I am?”

It was Christopher’s turn to snort. He leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on the table, folding his hands together and resting his hands atop of them. “Father Gideon told me you were ‘misguided’ and ‘had to find God’. I hardly think religion is important to you.”

Felix shifted uncomfortably. “Religion is still important to me. Just not in the same way.” Christopher inclined his head out of respect and understanding, but did not respond. He did not want to talk about religion.

“Is there medicine for it?”

“There are anti-depressants, but they are prescription medications. Doctors will usually first refer you to a therapist.”

“Are they helpful?”

“So I have been told.” Therapists or psychiatrists had not existed yet when Christopher was alive, and did not until many centuries later when his mind had already weathered down to nearly nothing and was holding on to his soul by a thin thread. But some of the newer reapers, who had either been a therapist or had at least visited one in their human life, spoke positively about them, so he felt comfortable making the suggestion to Felix.

Felix slumped back in his seat. “Father Gideon would never allow me to see a therapist.”

“What he does not know will not hurt him. “

“That is a brave thing to say in a house of God.”

Christopher leaned back in his chair. “Believe me when I say: God has moved out of this house.”


	11. lives collide

Disturbing and reoccurring dreams haunted Christopher more frequently now. Usually, his dreams were quite colourless, not that vivid, and outright unmemorable. He would wake up and forget them immediately, if he had even had the impression of having had one, but now they were scarily detailed, and they left him nauseated and sweaty when he awoke.

His dreams entailed scenes from Christopher’s human life, in particular, the last year of it; the one he spent with Oliver, which came to such an abrupt life. Sometimes his subconscious had mercy on him, and he would dream of the good moments, the happy ones, where he was still full of hope and naïve fantasies, which left him with tears dried on his face nonetheless; but mostly Oliver’s face twisted into Felix, and he dreamt of that dreadful execution at least twice a week.

Christopher awoke with a start, his head throbbing from the exhaustion and his throat hoarse and painfully dry. The room was still steeped in darkness, though the shadows had changed, which meant the position of the moon had, which meant it was already deep into the night, perhaps even the start of early morning.

Christopher was so incredibly tired. Tired of hurting, tired of sleeping. He had tried to stay up, certainly, reapers did not need sleep after all, but he had conditioned his body to it a long time, and now he could not go without it. His body would become achy and cold if he did not sleep. But now that he was dreaming, his body felt the same, so did it really matter?

He considered doing it that night. The thought of getting it over with and taking Felix’ soul had been nestling at the back of his mind since they had met, and the dreams pulled it forward, making it the only thing he could think about. He forced himself to pace the room and watch the sun come up, walking the length of his bedroom up and down until the thought of killing Felix settled back into that nagging corner. It was not over yet.

It was cold this morning, and Christopher’s dark mood did not help the weather. A flurry of snow followed him where he walked, attracting quizzical stares from the people around him, who held up their hand to catch the snow as if they were seeing it for the first time and they were not currently standing in it.

St. Paul’s came into view, and dread filled Christopher’s stomach. In truth, he did not feel like seeing Felix today. The dreams had taken its toll on his mind, and he did not think he could see Felix’ face without thinking about them. But it had become an unspoken agreement between the two of them that Christopher visited him every day, if not to check up on him, then to keep him company for a few hours, and though he would not be breaking any promise if he did not show up, he did not want to cause Felix more hurt.

The past few days, Felix had been waiting in the church for _him_ , instead of the other way around. The thought of Felix being excited to see Christopher, seeing that gorgeous face light up with a smile, was the only thing getting him through the short walk from the intersection to the church.

St. Paul’s smelled strongly, like it always did the day after service. Christopher tried not to breathe it in too deeply, but it penetrated his nostrils. Services were usually busier around Christmas and New Year, as if people were rushing to make up for their sins because they thought a new year would wipe their slate clean.

The nave was empty, save for a figure sitting so close to the back, Christopher had almost missed him. Felix was hunched over in the last pew, all the way to the side, his hair falling over the side of his face. A hardcover book lay in his lap, his phone clutched in his hand. Christopher recognised the book as one of Dr Seuss’, the one about the Cat in the Hat. He had read it once when it was published about seventy years ago, and he had appreciated the message of it. It had been a shame to him that thirty years later he had had to take the author’s soul.

Felix’ eyes darted between his phone and the book, typing out words slowly and holding the phone close to his ear to listen to something. Christopher realised with a pang of sorrow he was typing out the words he did not understand so he could listen to them. Felix underlined the word in the book and drew some unfamiliar graphemes. Perhaps it was a script he understood completely because he had made it up himself, entirely for that reason.

Christopher watched him for a few peaceful moments, with nothing but the sound of the quiet outside traffic, and the not-quite-human automated voice that came out of the phone which had always aggravated Christopher for no reason, and Felix’ incoherent muttering, matching sound to symbol, surrounding them. These sounds did not appear peaceful, and they were not, not really, but it was the way these sounds lived in their worlds simultaneously; they were both hearing the same thing, existing in the same bubble, and the feeling grounded Christopher to reality, making him feel the solace he needed after the tough night. Felix was alive, and Christopher was not, and for today, all was right.

Felix turned the page, and with it was taken from his trance. He looked up from the book and whipped his head around. They stared at each for a short moment, drinking in each other’s presence and appearance. Then Felix quickly put the book away, hiding it behind his hoodie as he stood, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly. He was a sight to behold.

“Hi there,” Felix said.

“Hello,” Christopher greeted.

“Since I’m on break, I thought we could spend the day together. If you’re not too busy with work, obviously!” Felix said hurriedly.

“I am free as well,” Christopher said, aware of how monotone his tone was.

“Are you okay?” Felix asked.

“I did not sleep very well. I am afraid I suffer from nightmares.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. You should try to tire yourself out before going to sleep. I don’t really have any dreams or anything like that when I’m super exhausted. Maybe it works for you too?”

Christopher nodded. “I shall take your advice and tire myself out. Was there anything in particular you wanted to do today?”

“I was thinking we could just take a walk?”

“Are you sure? It is quite cold outside.”

Felix shrugged. “It’ll help me feel alive.”

They both stalled at that statement, for both the same reasons and entirely different ones. They were both thinking of Felix’ life, and Christopher thought of how it would come to an end soon, while Felix thought about how it _could_ have ended a few nights ago. Both men were silent for a few seconds, before shaking themselves out of it and carrying on as if the utterance had not been out of place in the slightest.

“Right,” Christopher said. “Get your coat on then, and a hat. And do not forget gloves,” Christopher shouted as Felix ran up the stairs.

“Please, kind sir,” Father Albert said exasperatedly, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air behind him, “don’t shout in church. In case you hadn’t noticed, it echoes.”

“There is no one here,” Christopher replied.

“ _I_ am here,” the pastor pointed out rather coolly.

“Exactly,” Christopher said. “But fear not, Father, Felix and I will be out of your hair soon.”

“Yes, you and Felix. Father Gideon and I were wondering if there was already a confirmation of your blood relation? We are terribly curious, of course.”

Before Christopher could respond, Felix came back, stuffed into his thick coat and wrapped in an even thicker scarf. “Do you want me gone that badly, Father?” he asked jokingly, though the question carried a serious undertone.

“Don’t be silly, Felix,” Father Albert chastised. “We are just worried about your attachments to people who might not even be your family. Let’s be honest: you two don’t look anything alike.”

“Chris said my mother was a real beauty, which is where I must have gotten my ridiculously good looks,” Felix said lightly. Christopher’s heart warmed at Felix speaking so highly of himself, even if it was only a cover-up, and secretly, he quite liked the mention of the nickname. “Don’t you want me to have any friends?” he asked seriously this time. “Even if he isn’t family, he’s still important to me.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Father Albert said with a sigh and a reproachful look towards Christopher.

“I won’t,” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back late.”

“Before dinner?”

Felix shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe?” He looked at Christopher, who raised an eyebrow in response. “Probably not, then,” Felix said. “Bye!” he called out, pulling Christopher with him, their hands firmly intertwined.

Christopher had become better at predicting whenever they were about to touch, and now knew how to properly disguise his reactions. His skin still heated up, and sometimes he saw flashes of Felix dragging his fingernails down Christopher’s back, or tracing the moles on his chest, but he quickly shook those visions away and let himself get tugged away by Felix.

The cold hit them squarely in their faces, and Felix sunk farther back into his coat, shuddering at the chill. “Let’s go now before I get too cold and turn back.”

They walked. First, through the neighbourhood Felix had grown up in, with him pointing out buildings and shops and sharing anecdotes about when he was little. “I stole a bag of sweets from there,” he said, pointing at a corner shop at the third intersection. “Father Gideon caught me with it when I came back and walked me back so I could return it and apologise. Owner thought it was hilarious and gave me the bag for free, but when we got outside Father Gideon confiscated it again and later handed it out to the other boys. I was livid. Father Gideon told me I should pray for forgiveness. Only then I would get a sweet.”

“Did you?”

“No,” Felix said, grinning. “I snuck to his office in the middle of the night and ate all the candy in one go and then hid the empty bag under my mattress. The next day, Father Gideon confronted me, but I told him he didn’t have any evidence I’d done it. He searched and searched for the sweets but couldn’t find them, so in the end, he admitted defeat.”

Then they walked downtown, where they were busy breaking off the light showing to make room for the Christmas market. Stalls had already been set up at the edge of the square, and the smell of mulled wine and steamed buns hit their noses. Felix looked at the beverage longingly but eventually tore his eyes away. Father Gideon had forbidden him from consuming a single drop of alcohol, and so far, Felix had obeyed.

“Excuse me,” Christopher said to the woman, ignoring Felix trying to pull on his sleeve. “Do you have non-alcoholic mulled wine as well?”

“Of course!” she said cheerily, already getting a cup ready.

“Great. Could I have two of those?” He handed the vendor the money and took the cups she had placed on the counter. Christopher hoped Felix did not want anything else, because that had been the last of his money and he did not feel like using his reaper abilities in Felix’ presence.

Then they left downtown as well. They walked through the park, which was miraculously covered in a thick layer of untouched snow. Felix surged forward, putting two fingers out to draw something, but Christopher pulled him back, slowly shaking his head.

“Oh, come on, Chris! It’ll snow tonight and cover it again. No one will see it.” Christopher released him, the words ‘you don’t have any gloves’ forming in his head. But it was too late; Felix put his fingers in the snow and drew something that looked like a deformed circle with a line through it, the letter C on the bottom right and the letter F on the top left. Felix grinned at him, but Christopher did not understand the joke and met him with a blank look. Felix’ smile fell and he pushed a layer of snow on top of it, erasing his drawing. He walked away without a word, and Christopher followed, albeit somewhat confused.

Only later, when he got home, reeling from the night’s events, did he understand the circle had been a heart, and the line had been an arrow going through it. Had he known its meaning then, perhaps he would have been more confident when they were in the church. Perhaps he would have said something else.

They left the park and did not talk much. Christopher tried to make conversation, but Felix’ mood had turned, and Christopher knew, without doubt, it had been his doing, and wished he knew what he had done wrong.

“I saw you were reading when I came in at St. Paul’s,” Christopher said when his questions about school and Christmas plans were left unanswered.

Felix shrugged in response, which at least was more than silence.

“Did you enjoy the book?”

“I’m only a few pages in,” Felix grumbled. “Besides, it’s a children’s book.”

Christopher frowned. “Stories do not adhere to a certain age. If the words speak to your heart and soul, then it does not matter for who it was written.”

“I wouldn’t say The Cat in The Hat speaks to my heart and soul,” Felix said dryly. “I’m not reading it for enjoyment. I’m reading it to learn the letters. They are nice and big in those kinds of books.”

“I saw you were writing something above it?” Christopher questioned.

Felix nodded. “They’re just simple symbols I made up when I was younger. I thought if I could read _those_ that I could read everything, but of course, that didn’t work. Now I’m assigning every symbol to a phoneme, and I’m hoping that by rereading the same book over and over again I’ll be able to read it without my symbols as well. Maybe I can read other books then as well.

“I think that is a very clever idea,” Christopher said, and Felix’ ears tinted red.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “Do you like books?”

“I like stories,” Christopher confirmed.

“Tell me one,” Felix said. Christopher sighed and sifted through the millions of stories stored in his memory. He had heard thousands of them, and experienced many more first-hand. How peculiar that he could remember so many stories of other people, but his own human life slipped away from him. “A love story,” Felix said, his eyes ahead, but his voice resolute. Another hint Christopher should have picked up on but did not.

Christopher raked his mind for a love story. He did not enjoy love stories and usually turned away if his fellow reapers talked about the lovers they had had in their human lives. But there were a few stories he had heard and experienced, which could be considered love stories.

“Centuries ago, when the country was still a monarchy, there lived a princess named Sori.”

Felix frowned. “When was this? I’ve never heard of her.”

And he would not have. Princess Sori had been the daughter of King Sian, who had killed Prime Minister Mercy – the country had experienced a brief spell of democracy – and had crowned himself king, ruling the country with an iron fist. But his rule – just like that early democracy – came to an abrupt end when he was also murdered, nearly thirty years after his coronation. His lineage had been written out of history, or better yet, had never been recorded, which is why Felix did not recognise Princess Sori’s name. But Christopher had been there, and he remembered her story clearly.

“She lived a long time ago but is not considered of any importance in this time. You would not have learned about her in school. She was the first daughter of a wicked king, but she did not inherit his cruelty. She was known to be kind, loving, and charitable. As a young woman, she fell in love with one of her father’s officers, and he loved her back. When she came of age, she wished to marry _him_ instead of the savage prince of a neighbouring kingdom she was betrothed to. She told her father this, hoping he would grant her this wish at least. She, after all, had many other sisters who were jumping at the chance to marry a crown prince and become a queen. But her father did not consent. In fact, he was outraged at his daughter’s betrayal. ‘ _To fall in love with one of my own men_!’ he had cried. ‘ _I will not stand for this_!’ The king called the officer to him, who denied his affair with the princess, leaving Princess Sori heartbroken. The king declared the princess’ betrothal to the savage prince viable, and she left the throne room crying. Later that night, the officer came to her chamber, intending to apologise for his deceit, wanting to explain that he had only lied to save themselves from the king’s wrath. But Princess Sori had been shattered by the pain, and had taken her own life. The officer died not much later from natural causes, though many say he died from the heartbreak of having caused his lover’s death.” Christopher remained quiet, signalling the end of the story.

Felix stared at him. “That’s not a love story at all.”

“It is.”

“They both die! And there was no romance whatsoever.”

“Love stories are not always happy and lovely. Sometimes they are terrible, and cruel, and unfair,” Christopher pointed out. “And death is the end of everything.” He spoke from experience.

“I wanted a nice story,” Felix grumbled.

“I am sorry,” Christopher said sincerely. “I do not know any nice love stories.”

“It’s fine,” Felix said, in a way which made it clear it was not really fine.

The storytelling had distracted Christopher from the walk, and he did not realise what part of the city they were in until he saw it. The sight was both unfamiliar to him and painfully familiar to the core.

They stood in front of a church, which hardly looked like a church anymore, with its spire broken off and walls clad with old graffiti. It probably was nameless now, but its moniker rang clear in his head. _The Sacred Church of His Grace_. It was the church he had attended every Sunday in his human life. The one where his life had fallen apart.

He had not been back here since he had made the pastors suffer, and he thought the structure would not have survived centuries of rebuilding, yet here it stood, a sad excuse of a church.

“Looks haunted, doesn’t it?” Felix said, looking up at it with apprehension. He turned to look at Christopher’s gaze, which with his wide eyes must have struck Felix as frightened, and then pulled him closer to the half-standing building.

“Let’s go in and explore.”

“No!” Christopher said, panic striking him in his chest. He did not want to enter that building ever again, and certainly not with Felix. But Felix did not listen, and pushed the wooden doors open, pulling Christopher with him.

Inside, nature had taken over. Long vines had covered the pews that still stood, and dirt-streaked the stone floor, weeds growing from the cracks. It looked ghastly, with its windows broken and the dais broken down, reduced to nothing but ash. There were several holes in the ceiling, filling the church with watery snow. It was too wild for even homeless people to seek refuge in.

Felix whistled between his teeth. “Damn,” he said, looking mildly impressed. “This looks like something straight out of a dystopian horror film or something.” He ran his hand across the pews, stopping at the pew where Christopher had sat with Oliver on the day everything went wrong.

“Chris, are you okay?” Felix asked worriedly, walking back to the entrance, where Christopher stood frozen. He put his hand on Christopher’s arm, but he did not feel any warmth this time. The only thing he felt was an overwhelmingly numbing emptiness.

“This is my church,” he breathed, not quite sure of why he was telling Felix this. He was prepared for Felix to wave the statement away, to put his hand on Christopher’s forehead and jokingly ask if he was running a fever. He did not.

Felix frowned. “ _Your_ church? What does that mean?”

“I went to this church,” Christopher explained, still not meeting Felix’ eye, staring at the church in wonder. _How dare it still stand_? Christopher should tear it all down, brick by brick.

Felix still wore a frown on his face. Christopher probably could have gotten away with saying those things, pretending they were just drunken babbles (even if his wine had been non-alcohol as well), had Felix not been an art history buff.

“You went to this church?” Felix repeated. “Chris…” he said wearily. “This place must have been abandoned hundreds of years ago. Look at these stained glass windows,” he said, pointing up at the ones that were still intact. “They don’t make them like this anymore. They haven’t in a very long time. This style is closer to the windows they made in – medieval times.”

Christopher let out a hollow laugh. “That seems about right.” He felt Felix’ eyes burning a hole in the side of his face, and when he turned his face to stare back, the church disappeared around them.

Felix’s face was only about twenty centimetres from his own, and Christopher’s eyes involuntarily dropped to his lips. When after a few seconds he looked up again, he saw Felix was looking at Christopher’s lips as well, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The air around them changed: it became thicker, nearly tangible. He felt Felix’ breath on his cheek, and he lifted his hand to caress Felix’. The latter leaned into the touch, his eyes closing.

Christopher leaned in, his lips mere centimetres from Felix’. He sensed the phantom feeling of how their lips fit together perfectly, melting into one. He desperately wanted it. He wanted it so badly.

But he did not kiss Felix, and did not give Felix the chance to kiss him.

“I am a grim reaper.”


	12. now, the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: themes of death and depression

_I am a grim reaper._

The words hung uncomfortably in the air, breaking the tension that had been built in such a short time and replacing it with a different kind of tension; one that could only be described by the same feeling as seeing a dark thundercloud at the end of a summer day, knowing the day filled with pleasantries and niceness would end with the inevitably of a storm, with no guarantee of tomorrow being as sunny as today.

Felix opened his eyes and dozily stared at Christopher, his lips still slightly parted. It took him a moment to recover, and Christopher was not sure he had fully taken the statements in yet. Felix stared at him for a few seconds. When a frown started appearing between his eyebrows, Christopher knew the moments had been broken, and as if to prove him right, Felix took a step back. And another. And then another one until he stood flush against the door.

Christopher was grateful for it. He could breathe again. Function without having to resist the urge to grab Felix and kiss him anyway, consequences be damned.

“What?” Felix breathed. “What did you say?”

Christopher took a breath. “I am a grim reaper.”

“As in… _death_?”

Christopher nodded, and Felix let out a hollow laugh. He looked away and laughed again, the sound belonging to a maniac rather than Felix. Though Christopher reckoned Felix must have felt like one, or at least thought he was in the presence of one.

“Right. You’re a grim reaper. Alright. Fantastic.” It was clear he did not believe it, and Christopher did not blame him. He had never before exposed his real identity to anyone, so he did not know what to do from now on. Felix seemed content to just laugh and shake his head.

“A grim reaper,” Felix muttered under his breath. “A grim reaper.” He looked up sharply. “Prove it to me.”

Christopher frowned. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Don’t grim reapers kill living things?”

“It is a bit more nuanced than that,” Christopher started to explain, but Felix held up his hand.

“There’s enough trees outside. Do… whatever you do on them.”

Christopher stared at Felix. “I take the souls of humans, not trees.”

“Then how the fuck am I supposed to know you’re telling the truth? For all I know, you’re just a mentally-ill freak or something. Maybe you’ve led me here to kill me! You lured me into this dirty church to kill me!” Felix said incredulously, seemingly more outraged at the choice of location than scared of being murdered.

Christopher fixed him with a stare. “ _You_ pulled me into the church. I did not even want to enter this building.” Felix narrowed his eyes in suspicion and Christopher sighed. “Come closer.” He did not. “Come closer so you can look me in my eyes.”

Immediately, Felix slapped his hands over his eyes. “Is that how you kill people? Do I turn to stone if I look you in your eyes?” he asked, his voice muffled by his hands pressing into his face.

Christopher rolled his eyes. “That is Medusa. Do I look like I have snakes coming out of my head?” Felix slowly lowered his hands and cast a wary glance at Christopher’s hair, as if there was an actual possibility of Christopher having suddenly grown a nest of snakes on his head. “Just come closer. I will not hurt you.”

It was as if an arrow shot straight through Christopher’s heart. Felix was clearly very much afraid of him, even though in the time that they had known each other Christopher had never even made an attempt to hurt him. But Christopher could not be entirely innocent: he was a reaper, and for what other reason than to reap would one make contact with a human?

“Please,” Christopher pleaded. “My eyes,” he said softly.

Felix hesitantly put a foot forward. He kept his eyes turned away, focussed on Christopher’s cheek, lips, chin, neck, rather than his eyes. At that moment, Felix was like every human being he had ever encountered as a reaper: unable to meet his eyes. But this was his own choice, made out of fear, and that hurt more than Christopher thought it would. Just a few minutes ago, they had been standing close, their lips already pressed together before they actually were.

Why had Christopher said it? He could have pretended to be an undertaker and Felix would have believed him, and they could have kissed until their lips fell off, until they could not tell their own breath from the other’s, until the only thing still existing was the taste of their lips. But Christopher had not wanted to lure Felix into a falsehood, had not wanted to deceive him any longer.

“Look at my eyes, Felix,” Christopher said again. “Nothing will happen. I just want to show you something. Something that might prove my identity.” Only then did Felix look up, tentatively, like a toddler when they want to gauge their parent’s reaction to having broken something, but not ignite their anger. For someone who did not believe Christopher was a reaper, he sure was frightened.

Christopher lifted his hand to his right eye, using his middle finger to pull the skin beneath it down. He looked up at the ceiling and touched his index finger to his eyeball, very lightly moving it around. Felix gasped in response.

“You see? No contacts. My eyes are purple,” Christopher explained unnecessarily. It did not take much to convince him after all.

“A fucking reaper.”

A silence fell, though it was filled with questions Felix wanted to be answered, and the hope that Christopher did not have to do that. But Felix was smart, and too chatty for his own good, and not at all subtle, so the questions came anyway, with the most important standing out to Christopher, ringing in his ears.

“ _Have you come to kill me?_ ”

It was the only question that matters to both of them, evident by how the silence returned again, anticipation heavy in the air, around them, in their lungs, their heads, their hearts. Christopher did not want to give the only truthful answer and he was sure Felix did not want to hear it, but now, the lie was too easily recognisable.

“Yes.”

With that single word, the entire world ceased to be for a moment. There was no sound, no oxygen, no humans, no reapers, no earth. There was nothing, nowhere for the terrible truth to exist. But with an inhalation, the world returned again, and Felix was in front of him, white as a sheet, his gaze unfocused.

“ _Are_ you going to kill me?”

“It is what I have to do.”

“Why haven’t you done it yet, then?”

Christopher faltered. How could a love confession come after the revelation of intended death? Those two things should not have existed in the same conversation, but they did, they would, because Christopher wanted to. He wanted Felix to know the reason why he still walked, breathed, lived. It was because of him, his being, his existence; his smile, his frown, his laughter, his crying, his determination, his love, his need to live and his will to die. Even if the fates had not made him Christopher’s challenge, he still would have fallen in love with Felix. There was no other possibility than this one.

“Answer me!” Felix yelled, his voice thick with fear and anger. “Fucking answer me! Why would you spend all this time with me just to kill me? Are you that twisted?”

Christopher considered taking the verbal abuse. He surely deserved it and thought it was good for Felix to let some anger out. But Felix was not just letting some anger out. He was furious about his life, and the way Christopher had been playing with it since they met. He damned himself now, for not doing it when he had met Felix on the landing that night. An effortless chance wasted. He knew in his heart that he could have done nothing about it. He had fallen in love with Felix immediately, perhaps even before he had seen him. Why else would he have gone into a church, the one place he hated more than anything when he just as easily could have waited a day to take his soul outside? _Simply to see him_.

Felix was waiting for an answer.

“I am in love with you.” It was clearly not the answer Felix had expected. He uncrossed his arms and took a step back, his mouth slightly opening. “You still live because I am in love with you and even the thought of you dying scares me. Though I am a servant of death, I am death, I do not want it for you.”

“In love with – ” Felix could not finish his sentence. He snorted. He cackled. He laughed that maniac-laugh that did not suit him. “This is some shit straight out of some sort of Romeo and Juliet parody.”

Christopher was inclined to disagree with him. He did not think they were much like Romeo and Juliet, save for the forbidden romance, which for many people in the world was a harsh reality, not a play or book or movie. But Christopher did not fail to notice the meaning behind the words. Romeo and Juliet had been lovers. In love with each other. With the way Felix was avoiding his eyes, for entirely different reasons this time (his red ears were the telltale sign), he knew Felix had meant for Christopher to make the connection.

“Are you..?” Christopher asked, still afraid of what the answer could be – would be.

“Well,” Felix shuffled awkwardly, then became fierce. “You’ve just told me you’re going to kill me. You don’t deserve any answers from me about anything.” Christopher could not argue with that. “What does this mean? You’re not going to kill me anymore because you’re in love with me? Or what?”

Christopher sighed. “I – it is very complicated. I have not decided to take your soul. The fates have decided. I am afraid that if I do not do it, someone will do it. And they will not hesitate.”

“So you’re going to do it?”

“If I do not… then I will remain in this world for a very long time. And I am tired. I cannot stay here. Not without you.”

Felix swallowed. “So romantic. Do I get any say in the matter?”

“I am afraid not.”

Felix took a step back and seated himself in the pew. It creaked under his weight, and Christopher was scared it would break. But it held, and Felix slumped further back, his whole  
posture defeated.

“I knew.”

“What?” Christopher asked.

“I knew. That night. There was someone on the landing outside my bedroom. That was you, wasn’t it? You were coming to kill me.” Christopher answered the question with silence, and Felix went on. “That whole day, I’d been feeling strange. Like I was floating, or something. And then I went to bed, and I had the strangest thought: that I would not wake up in the morning. I knew death was coming. And I was not scared at all. I thought _if it comes, let it come. It’s fine_. You’re not the only one who’s tired, you know?”

Christopher knew this. He had seen it first-hand; Felix was so tired of his life he had been willing to lose it in a dirty alley in a part of town where he should not have been, drinking something that was stronger than his will to live, wrapped in clothes that could not protect his heart.

“But,” Felix continued, “now that I know. Like actually consciously know, I don’t think I want to die anymore.”

Christopher also knew _this_. He had known when he showed up the day after their talk in the kitchen. Felix had left the room with his tea in hand without so much as a word, and Christopher had not called him that night. He had thought Felix wanted space, but the relief on his face when Christopher appeared in St. Paul’s the next morning had been written clearly on his face. Life had trickled back into him that day. He carefully started talking about taking his future more seriously, and he had asked Christopher to accompany him to an open day for an art academy in the next year. The new year. There was no new year for them. Not anymore.

“How long? How long until I die?”

“The deadline is the first of January.”

A sob escaped from Felix, who must have hoped for at least a month; a month to live his life, a month to say goodbye to his brothers, a month to prepare for death. But he only had eleven days left, and time was ticking.

Christopher walked to him and put his hand on Felix’ hair, careful not to accidentally touch his forehead. “I am so sorry, Felix.”

Felix shook his head and wiped his tears away. “This is unfair to both of us.” He held Christopher’s head firmly in his hands, and looked at him with a stern gaze.

“I love you.” He pulled Christopher closer and planted a kiss on his lips. A peck, really. It was featherlight, barely perceptible, but enough for Christopher to drown in.

“There,” Felix said, releasing him. “I’ve always wanted to confess my love to someone. I can cross that off my bucket list.”

“You have a bucket list?” Christopher asked, still feeling delirious from Felix’ kiss. His lips tingled from the contact, and he felt a giddiness rise up in his stomach.

“Not yet. But I’m going to make one.” 


	13. this bucket list is too long

They sat in a booth far away from the diner’s entrance, Felix munching on the last of his soggy fries, Christopher stirring his coffee with his finger lifted an inch above the liquid, making small and subtle movements to create movement. Felix stared at the creamy substance twirling in the cup, entranced by the magic of it moving without touch. Christopher smiled, the corners of his mouth only lifting a millimetre or so – he still had not gotten used to that feeling, but he was trying.

“That’s so cool,” he said in awe. “Can you do anything else?”

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Felix shrugged. “I don’t know. Fly? Read minds? Teleport.”

“I cannot do any of those things. But I have been around humans long enough to know what they are thinking and feeling. You wear your hearts on your sleeves. So in that way, I can read minds.”

“What am I thinking of then?” Felix challenged him.

Christopher sighed. Who knew entertaining Felix could be this tiring? He sensed he would be explaining and showing off his abilities until the end. “You are thinking of not thinking anything.”

Felix narrowed his eyes in suspicion but smiled. “Correct.”

The diner was loud, like the pub had been on their first ‘date’ together, but this time, Christopher silenced the room around them with the wave of a hand. Felix looked up at their mouths still moving, but no sound coming out of them. “I have created a bubble, so to say,” Christopher explained. He had used his reaper’s abilities to buy them food as well, folding a napkin in the bill and handing the little booklet back to the waitress. She had taken it with grace and smiled at the napkin as if it were a million dollars. Felix had felt bad, but since neither of them had any actual money on them and they had already eaten most of their food, there was nothing to be done about it.

“Do reapers often fall in love with humans?” Felix asked.

Christopher thought about it for a moment. “I suppose not. There are many different reaper cultures, in which everyone adheres to different rules. But our society does not, not really. Our nature hinders us from making any substantial connection with humans. Besides, there is no happiness in falling in love with a mortal when you yourself will live on for thousands of years.”

Felix frowned. “Then how did you fall in love with me?”

The question caught him off guard. _Should I tell him about the challenge_? Christopher thought. Now that he had revealed the truth about himself, the rest of it came easy to him. But a voice in the back of his head, a personification of the past few weeks he had spent with Felix, told him that telling Felix his feelings had not been of his own accord would surely hurt him. Tonight, he did not want to hurt Felix any further.

Felix seemed to notice the hesitation because he smiled again. “Did the fates decide for you?”

Christopher nodded, watching Felix for any signs of hurt or sadness, but there were none. He seemed content. “Same for me,” he said. Christopher tilted his head sideways, observing Felix. It was of course entirely possible the fates had made Felix fall in love with Chan, too, to make it hurt even more. But Chan did not think that was what Felix meant.

As if in response, Felix shrugged. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Whatever happens, happens for a reason. I’m not too pressed about specifics or anything. Maybe we were just meant to be.”

Felix smiled, and Christopher smiled in response, and Felix' smile widened at the sight of it, which made Christopher’s heart lurch. He had not thought that after Oliver he would be able to love anything – anyone – as much as he had him, but Felix took that belief and shook it wildly, until everything was confusing and blurry.

“You can cross number eight off the list,” Felix said with a grin, taking Christopher’s coffee and taking a sip.

Chan raised an eyebrow and produced a little black notebook he carried with him from his interior pocket. While they had been waiting on their dinner, Felix had taken the liberty of creating his bucket list. He had ordered Christopher to transcribe his words, and the reaper had quickly scribbled everything down as Felix had rattled on about the things he still wanted to do. Despite his claim that he had not made a bucket list yet, Felix had given it a lot of thought.

“You remember the order?” Christopher asked, impressed by Felix’ memory.

Felix shrugged. “I can’t read so I have to retain the information somehow. I’ve developed some handy tricks over the years to help improve my memory.” Felix shook his head. “But I don’t remember it after twenty-three. Can you read it to me again?”

Christopher flipped the notebook open to the right page and examined the list. Some of the things he wanted to do were too elaborate to plan out in eleven days, too expensive, or too dependent on seasons. Some things were so trivial, Christopher was surprised he had not yet already done them.

_1\. Go bungee jumping_   
_2\. Go skydiving_   
_3\. Eat lobster_   
_4\. Grow my own kitchen garden_   
_5\. Get my photo professionally taken_   
_6. ~~Confess my love to someone~~_   
_7\. Mix every kind of cereal we have together and eat a big bowl of it_   
_8\. Make Chris smile_   
_9\. Visit Amsterdam_   
_10\. Finish The Cat in The Hat_   
_11\. Give Chris a Christmas present (one that he’ll like)_   
_12\. Go on a drive in the mountains_   
_13\. Swim in the ocean_   
_14\. Attend Pride_   
_15\. Go to a festival_   
_16\. Go to the cinema_   
_17\. Write (sing) a song_   
_18\. Go on a hot air balloon ride_   
_19\. Ride a zipline_   
_20\. Get a tattoo (matching)_   
_21\. Get a piercing_   
_22\. Swim with sharks_   
_23\. Jump off a cliff_   
_24\. Learn to play the guitar_   
_25\. Eat McDonald’s_   
_26\. Make a floral arrangement_   
_27\. Have a movie-marathon_   
_28\. Go to a concert_   
_29\. Start a rock-collection_   
_30\. Paint my nails_   
_31\. Dye my hair a crazy colour_   
_32\. Visit New York City_

The list was still incomplete according to Felix. Christopher crossed number eight off and smiled for good measure. He had been surprised when Felix had brought it up but was glad that he could help achieve the goal. The possibilities of helping Felix achieve his wishes encouraged him. Not everything on the list would be able to be crossed off, but that was alright. He did not think Felix cared about being realistic.

“Right,” Christopher said. “Two crossed off.” He looked at his watch, an ancient clock he had converted into a modern one when carrying pocket watches was no longer the norm. He regretted it now. He missed the beauty of it, and in current times, carrying a pocket watch was seen as a fashion statement. “It is not that late yet. We can–” Christopher looked at the list. “Already ate, so cannot do that one. Nor that one. We can go to the cinema?” Christopher offered.

Felix bit his lip. “I don’t know. I don’t think Father Gideon and Father Albert will appreciate me being out so late. I’m already on thin ice with them as is.”

“I will ring St. Paul’s and tell them you are in perfectly safe hands.” Felix gave him a pointed look, and Christopher sighed. “Eleven days is not a long time, Felix. If you want to do these things,” Christopher said, tapping his notebook, “it is best to start now. One film. I will buy you any snack you want.” The mention of snacks cheered Felix up, and he was already instructing Siri to look up what films were playing tonight.

***

Apparently, Felix rather liked romance films, which came as no real surprise, because he had referenced Romeo and Juliet. Christopher had read the plot of every film currently playing out loud, and Felix had quickly decided on the only melodramatic romance film. The information on the website said it portrayed two friends over the span of three decades, falling in love and out of it again. It did not sound appealing to Christopher whatsoever, but it was not his bucket list, so he kept his tongue and bought two tickets.

Christopher found himself munching on the slightly burned popcorn. Bored out of his mind, he had had to resort to entertaining himself by eating, which was not one of his favourite past times, but better amusement than what was playing on the screen.

Felix was glued to it, his unblinking eyes staring up at the screen as the story unfolded. He leaned forward in his seat, desperate to catch every single word, shushing Christopher as he moved to whisper something in his ear.

“This date is boring,” Christopher said after an hour, unable to entertain himself any longer.

Felix did not take his eyes off the screen. “You don’t like the film?”

“It is not my cup of tea,” Christopher said begrudgingly.

“Then watch me. I am your cup of tea, right?” Though Felix did not turn his head, Christopher could see the smirk plastered on his face.

That is not a bad idea at all, Christopher thought. He had often looked at Felix, of course, but he had never been able to stare at him so openly. With the consent given, he turned his body in the seat to examine Felix better, his elbow on the seat rest and his head against his closed fist.

The harsh and bright light from the screen reflected against Felix’ pale skin, and his eyes were so wide Christopher could see the film playing in them, darting from one character to the next. They were slightly red as well; he had cried at some point during the film. Christopher had not even noticed it. His breathing was high in his chest, anticipation running through his veins.

Christopher had seen many versions of Felix over the last few weeks, each beautiful in their own way. Him smiling, surrounded by his brothers from the orphanage, had been a favourite of Christopher’s, and Felix caught off guard was always a terrific sight to behold, but he felt himself fall in love again with this version of Felix.

He adored this distracted Felix. It was easy to forget they were soon both, in one way or another, going to stop existing. Felix did not appear to be thinking about his death. Christopher was grateful for it. He did not think he could bear seeing Felix live his last days wallowing in sadness.

He only has eleven more days to live. Ten if this one does not count.

The sudden realisation that Felix would never reach his eighteenth birthday hit him square in the chest, and the pain almost paralyzed him. _It is not fair. How can the fates be so cruel to him_?

A newfound determination filled his existence. He would make these last eleven days the best of Felix’ life.

Felix’ ears had grown a pale shade of red from the constant attention, and he was in the middle of turning to him when Christopher gently seized his head between his hands. Felix stared at him, his eyes as wide as they had been before, staring at Christopher, breathlessly waiting for him to explain himself, the film already forgotten.

Christopher leaned in. “Felix. Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

Felix faltered for a second before nodding. Christopher leaned in further, his lips centimetres away from Felix’. He waited there for a second, giving Felix the opportunity to pull out if he wanted, but that moment never came, so Christopher continued on, caressing Felix’ cheek and smiling as he heard the sharp inhale of breath before he pressed his lips to Felix’.

It was a good thing they had chosen seats in the back. People would not have liked to see such a vulgar display of affection.

Christopher’s tongue swirled around in Felix’ mouth, and he revelled in his taste. Felix was trying very hard to stay quiet, biting down on his and Christopher’s lips to resist the urge to groan. Christopher put the seat rest up, and Felix wordlessly shimmied his way into Christopher’s lap, circling his arms around his neck. They broke apart for a smile and a breath, but desire pulled them back again, their surroundings forgotten. Their kiss turned from passionate to lazy, and Christopher revelled in how their bodies felt pressed up against each other.

They did not find out how the film ended.

Christopher did not think this was what Felix had had in mind when he had put ‘go to the cinema’ on his bucket list, but judging from his wide smile as they left the cinema hand-in-hand, Felix did not mind one bit.


	14. to mark the soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Christopher are going to have a conversation about Christopher's death as a human. It's not too bad, but take care of yourself if you don't like those kinds of conversations!

_1\. Go bungee jumping_   
_2\. Go skydiving_   
_3. ~~Eat lobster~~_   
_4\. Grow my own kitchen garden_   
_5\. Get my photo professionally taken_   
_6. ~~Confess my love to someone~~_   
_7. ~~Mix every kind of cereal we have together and eat a big bowl of it~~_   
_8. ~~Make Chris smile~~_   
_9\. Visit Amsterdam_   
_10\. Finish The Cat in The Hat_   
_11\. Give Chris a Christmas present (one that he’ll like)_   
_12. ~~Go on a drive in the mountains~~_   
_13\. Swim in the ocean_   
_14\. Attend Pride_   
_15\. Go to a festival_   
_16. ~~Go to the cinema~~_   
_17\. Write (sing) a song_   
_18\. Go on a hot air balloon ride_   
_19. ~~Ride a zipline~~_   
_20\. Get a tattoo (matching)_   
_21\. Get a piercing_   
_22\. Swim with sharks_   
_23\. Jump off a cliff_   
_24\. Learn to play the guitar_   
_25. ~~Eat McDonald's~~_   
_26\. Make a floral arrangement_   
_27. ~~Have a movie-marathon~~_   
_28\. Go to a concert_   
_29. ~~Start a rock-collection~~_   
_30. ~~Paint my nails~~_   
_31\. Dye my hair a crazy colour_   
_32\. Visit New York City_

Slowly but surely, they made their way through Felix’ bucket list. They mostly ignored the bigger and far-fetched ones, Felix making a joke here and there about buying plane tickets and flying out to Amsterdam, or creating their own Pride Festival. Christopher smiled at these comments. He would do it for Felix in a heartbeat, but he had neither a passport nor consent from either of the Fathers. Besides, he did not think the Fathers would appreciate them holding their own Pride, though he reckoned the boys would love it. Jisung had been wearing a rainbow flag badge for the entire week already after Felix accidentally let it slip to him that they had kissed, and Felix had almost crossed Pride off the list for that reason alone.

Christopher had taken Felix to a nail salon to get his nails professionally done, and he had sat in the chair with twitchy legs, looking at the array of colours on the wall, his eyes gliding over the shelf with the purples and blues. In the end, he had gone for a soft lavender colour, which would match the colour of his hair once they had dyed it. Father Albert had not liked it, but Father Gideon had been surprisingly pleasant about it, complimenting his choice of colour. Felix had beamed, and Christopher had disliked Father Gideon a little less after that.

The rock collection had also been crossed off the list, though Christopher did not think it should have been. After the manicure, Felix had picked up a rock from the side of the road, an ugly grey pebble, wet and cold from the snow. Felix had happily put it in his pocket and forced Christopher to cross it off.

“I said ‘ _start_ a rock collection’. I’ve started it. Cross it off, reaper,” Felix had said with an annoying grin on his face.

It was the day of Christmas Eve, and they were on their way to the hotel, driving the car Minho had left behind. (Minho had reached his end quota two days ago and submitted himself over to the fates, with the promise of meeting Christopher again after reincarnation. Christopher had allowed himself to bathe in the sorrow for a few hours, until he had found out Minho had left his car to him, which had come at the perfect time.)

Felix looked at the box of hair dye they had bought as if it were the love of his life. Christopher had offered to take him to an actual salon, but Felix had said the fun in dyeing your hair a fun colour was doing it yourself.

“What if it turns out bad?” Christopher asked, eyeing the box.

“Won’t matter, will it?” Felix replied, opening the box and retrieving the tube of dye from it, inspecting the cap.

“Please do not open that in here. I do not want you to damage the seats.”

“Again, won’t matter, will it? You’ll be gone in a week.”

“It is about respecting and honouring my fellow reaper. This was his car, and he loved it like it was his child.”

Felix turned to Christopher. “What happens after reapers die?”

Christopher released a breath and considered the question carefully. “Perhaps ‘dying’ is not the right term to use for it. We are, after all, not alive. When we reach the end of our quota, which has been predetermined by the fates, we submit ourselves to them.”

“How does that happen? Do they have an office and you take a number?”

Christopher snorted. “That would be sufficient. No, to submit ourselves, we simply go to sleep. The fates know when our time has come. They will reincarnate us into a better life than the one we had.”

“A good life? Is that still a possibility in this time?” Felix questioned.

Christopher smiled ruefully. “No time has ever been good. At least there is a certain degree of equality in the world now. That was non-existent when I was alive,” he said bitterly.

“Is that how you died?” Felix asked quietly, his eyes focussed on the road ahead instead of Christopher, feigning a certain amount of casualness.

“Yes,” Christopher said simply. Initially, he was not going to elaborate, deciding to save Felix from that particularly sad story, but the words tumbled out, his heart apparently making the decisions for him. “I was in love with an important official’s son. We met in church, and we were together for a year until everything fell apart. We were found out by the church, and executed only a few days later.” Christopher forced the emotions down.

Felix gaped at him, his eyes glistening. “Are you fucking kidding me? They executed you? Just like that?” he asked, his voice raised in anger. Felix’ fury sparked something in Christopher, something he had not allowed himself to feel in a long time, and he was no longer able to hold it down.

No one had ever been angry for him, for the way he had died. Whenever his cause of death came up in conversation with reapers, the only thing they gave him was pity, a sort of sick sympathy, as if it was simply an unfortunate incident. But Felix was _seething_ and it riled Christopher up.

“There was a trial,” he laughed hollowly. “We did not attend, nor were we allowed to say anything. We were locked in that fucking church for three days until they told us they were going to execute us. I was not even allow –” Christopher cleared his throat as his voice broke, “I was never even allowed to speak to my family. I never found out if I had greatly disappointed them or if they tried to fight the decision.”

“Did you ever – have you ever visited them again? When you first became a reaper? Is that even possible?”

Christopher shook his head. “When you first die, time moves differently. You spend some time recovering from the trauma, and then you get trained to become a reaper. By the time I came back to my family’s house, three years had passed, and they had left the city. There was no way for me to find out what had happened. I am tethered to this city, and no one knew what had happened to them, though some say they fled the city to escape from the scrutiny they were under for having a son like me.”

“Were you able to meet anyone else from that time? Your lover’s family?” Felix asked, surely hoping the memory would bring him some comfort. It did not. Oliver’s family had disowned him before his death, something his own parents had not done, which only very slightly warmed his heart. Oliver’s father had shot up through the ranks until he had become the emperor’s adviser, and he and his family eventually also left the city before Christopher could get to them.

“I did not visit his family. But I visited the pastors who outed us. And the judges who signed off on our execution. And the witnesses who had thought our relationship was any of their business.”

“What did you do?” Felix asked, a slight tremble in his voice.

Christopher did not answer for a few moments, letting the silence seep into their bones. They were good at that; letting the quietude answer each other’s questions, filling it with assumptions and expectations. After a few minutes, when Christopher was sure Felix had already imagined the worst, he spoke.

“I could not peacefully exist as a reaper until I avenged our – mine and Oliver’s - deaths. Reapers cannot fulfil their duty until their minds have calmed. My mind was _far_ from calm. I did things to those people, things I will not share because they are horrible and vile. I know this. But I do not regret what I have done,” Christopher said with a note of finality in his voice, but leaving room for Felix to respond. On one hand, he wanted Felix to challenge him, to point out the obvious lack of moral compass, even in death. On the other hand, he just wanted someone to comfort him. To tell him he did the right thing.

So he was pleasantly surprised when Felix sharply bit out: “they deserved it.”

***

At first, Felix did not see the hotel, and he asked why they had stopped in the middle of a country road. Christopher smiled. Felix could technically see the hotel but Christopher’s presence was preventing him from forgetting it, so the hotel became invisible to him. He put his hand over Felix’ eyes, his thumb carefully tucked away to ensure he did not accidentally touch Felix’ forehead. He removed his hand again after a few seconds, and Felix gasped.

“Wow!” he said in amazement. “You live here?”

“The reapers in this city all live here.”

Felix paled slightly, swallowing. “Every reaper?”

Christopher smiled. “Reapers are not animals, and you are not our prey,” he said in reassurance. “No one will hurt you. Now, when we get inside, you will not be able to look them in their eyes, and you will probably feel very uneasy. That is normal for humans. It happens when someone is surrounded by a reaper, though I assume the feeling will be amplified, considering there will probably be around a hundred reapers here.” It did not reassure Felix. “We can still leave if you want to.”

Felix shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Let’s go.”

Christopher took Felix’ hand in his own and planted a gentle kiss on it, caressing it until he could no longer feel it shake.

The hotel was unusually quiet, which was a relief to both Christopher and Felix, but still, the reapers turned their heads to look at the two of them, though their eyes were focussed solely on Felix, who was staring at the carpets.

Never before had there been a human in their home. It was not unusual for reapers to take a human as their companion for the night, but whatever they did under the cover of darkness, it never happened in the hotel. It was an unwritten rule. Some of them must have felt betrayed, it was clearly written on their faces, but Christopher cared little. In a few days, he would be gone from this hotel, and they would not have to deal with it anymore.

Felix hummed along with the tune playing in the lift, tapping his fingers against his jeans in nervous habit. He stared up at the increasing number displayed on the screen, anxiously waiting for it to stop. Christopher smiled and took his hand, squeezing it softly. “You will be fine,” he said.

Felix looked around Christopher’s apartment with polite distaste. His own bedroom was appropriately cluttered, and even the nave itself usually carried hints of the orphans living there; forgotten books or stray laundry that had been dropped while collecting it from the line outside. But Christopher’s apartment was bare, and Felix sighed heavily.

“A true reflection, is it not?” Christopher commented.

“I don’t think so,” Felix replied. He shrugged at Christopher’s odd look. “I’d expected walls lined with bookcases. Old furniture, Persian rugs, a record player. Anything, really. You’re not _this_ boring,” he said with a gesture at the room.

“I appreciate that,” Christopher said in earnest. He liked it when Felix complimented him, even if there was usually a hint of a joke in it.

Felix set his things down and headed to the bathroom, putting a towel around his shoulders and calling for Christopher to join him.

“Tea?” Christopher called from the kitchen.

“Yes, please.”

Christopher carried two mugs of steaming hot mint to the bathroom, setting it down on the counter and observing Felix in the mirror. His roots had grown out a considerable amount, and they would have to bleach them first before attempting to dye it purple. Felix had tasked Christopher with doing the actual dyeing part, though he also slipped on a pair of cheap gloves that came with the box.

Christopher carefully brushed the dye into Felix’ hair, minding where his roots ended and his blond hair started, careful not to rebleach that too. They sat in silence, which Christopher did not mind, but Felix obviously did. He went back to bouncing his leg, which made his head move as well.

“Stop moving!” Christopher said exasperated.

“Sorry! Hey, what kind of music do you listen to?”

“None. I do not listen to music.”

“God, maybe you _are_ boring.”

Christopher rolled his eyes. “How many hours of music do you think you have listened to in your life?”

Felix stared at him in the mirror. “Are you kidding me? What kind of question is that? How am I supposed to know that?”

“Humour me and make an estimate.”

Felix sighed but considered the question anyway. “Consciously listened to music? I guess that would be between fifteen and twenty thousand hours.”

Christopher smiled. “Twenty thousand hours? That is, give or take, about two and a half years of your life spent listening to music. As of now, I have spent over one hundred years consciously listening to music. I have heard it all.”

Felix looked impressed, but smirked. “I bet you haven’t heard EDM music before.”

“I assure you, I have,” Christopher said loftily. He was not sure if he actually had, considering he had no idea what it was, but he was certain he had to have heard it somewhere. Felix opened his mouth to retort, but a knock on the door saved Christopher from the embarrassment of having to lie about it.

Changbin stood in the corridor, a black case in his hand. He barely acknowledged Christopher, instead looking around the corner to sneak a peek at Felix. Christopher cleared his throat. “Come in,” he said.

“Hello!” Felix called from the bathroom. He appeared in the doorway with a hand in his hair, smearing out the dye. “You must be Changbin,” he said warmly. “I’m Felix.”

Changbin let his eyes travel from top to bottom without shame, whistling between his teeth. “Well, _hello_ ,” he said, drawing out the ‘o’. Christopher whacked him around his head when Felix started blushing profusely.

“Alright, alright! Sorry, Jesus. I was just checking him out.”

“Have some respect,” Christopher said under his breath.

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “As if you don’t look at him like you want to ravage him.” Christopher faltered, and Changbin let out a loud laugh. “Don’t look so taken aback. It’s obvious from where I’m standing.” He winked and went to join Felix in the bathroom, where the latter had already retreated back into.

“You are here for tattoos, Changbin,” Christopher warned. “Nothing else.”

“Yes, sir.” He mock-saluted him. Christopher rolled his eyes.

Felix desperately wanted to get a tattoo, but since he was still underage and would need a parent or guardian with him, and they both knew neither of the Fathers would ever set foot in a tattoo-shop, Christopher had asked Changbin to do it instead. He had been a tattoo-artist in his human life (which had ended about forty years ago after a tragic drunk-driving accident) and Changbin still practised the hobby today. Most reapers walked around with ink-covered skin, courtesy to Changbin, who did the tattoos for free. It had been a very clever move indeed; he had quickly garnered popularity, and now most of the reapers here owed him a favour in some sort of way.

Christopher was one of the only ones who did not have any tattoos, though that was going to change today. Not only did Felix want a tattoo, he wanted a matching one. With Christopher. Because he thought it would be sick.

Changbin fished out a few designs he had sketched according to Christopher’s instructions, which he had given following Felix’ wishes. The drawings were of snakes, with fine line work and intricate details. Christopher watched as Changbin and Felix discussed the placement and size, measuring out how it would fit on his arms. In the end, he decided on the snake that would wrap around their wrist and come up on their forearm. Christopher did not feel particularly warm towards the design, but he _did_ feel a particular warmness towards Felix, so he agreed to the design with a quick smile, startling Changbin, who promptly told Felix he had never seen Christopher smile before.

“You go first,” Felix said. “I need to put in the purple dye now,” he said, already putting the gloves back on.

“Oh, I see,” Christopher said, pulling his sleeve up and letting Changbin smear shaving cream on his arm. “What is that phrase again? Something with chickens?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I won’t chicken out. But I need to get this out of my hair before it turns yellow.”

Christopher sat still for two hours, looking away and pretending he was not bothered in the slightest by a needle poking his skin. He had not expected it to hurt this much. He wanted to curse Changbin for being such a perfectionist. The tattoo could have done without the extra lines in the scales, and the red lines around the design were absolutely unnecessary.

Felix gasped happily as he came up behind Christopher to examine the finished result. His hair was still slightly damp from when he had washed the dye out of it, and it now tickled his ear as Felix leaned in closer.

“Your turn,” Christopher said quickly, aware that Changbin was not-so-subtly staring at them. He got up from the chair and instructed Felix to sit down, watching as Changbin repeated the process.

Felix took the pain a lot better than Christopher had. In fact, he did not seem to experience any discomfort. He happily chatted with Changbin, who remarked he had never heard someone talk this much without pause.

After another two hours, Felix was also getting up from the chair, admiring his tattoo, lightly touching the plastic wrap that covered it. “It looks so cool!” he said, profusely thanking Changbin over and over again, who had gone red from the attention.

“Just make sure you smear some cream on it whenever it feels dry,” he muttered, packing up his materials. “Take care of those tattoos, boys.”

He shook Christopher’s hand. “I’m leaving town for a few days for a couple of assignments. I might not be back before you leave.”

“I wish you well, Changbin.”

“And you,” Changbin replied. “I’m sorry about this, Christopher.” He gestured to Felix. “You don’t deserve it. Neither does he. You guys are good people.”

“Thank you, Changbin.”

After Changbin left, Christopher joined Felix by the window, where the latter was still looking at his tattoo. They held out their arms together, and Felix intertwined their hands.

“You know why I wanted to get a matching tattoo?”

“You said it would look sick,” Christopher said blankly.

Felix laughed. “Don’t say it like that. Yes, I do think it looks cool. But I didn’t want it for aesthetic purposes.”

“Then why?”

“When I was younger, there was a woman who attended services at St. Paul. She was the most religious person I had ever met, but she was also covered in tattoos from head to toe. When I was like nine, I was bold enough to ask her why she had so many tattoos. Her answer stayed with me all these years, and especially now, I thought it would be fitting to get one.

“She believed the tattoos would live on forever, even if she didn’t. I tried to point out decomposition existed, but she shushed me. She explained that for her, getting tattoos didn’t only mean marking her skin, but also her soul.” Felix shrugged. “If we really are soulmates, and tattoos really _do_ touch the soul, then it’ll mark us in our next life as well, won’t it? We’ll be able to find each other that way.”

Christopher tilted his head and thought about it. He had not yet heard of that theory, but it made sense to him in a way. Or maybe it was hopeful thinking; that even in their next life they could be together. Nonetheless, Christopher was happy to accept the theory as truth. Perhaps they would find each other again.


	15. it takes a village to raise a child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for some unpleasant arguing

Christmas Eve was to be spent at St. Paul’s, an event Felix was looking forward to, but Christopher was dreading. Felix had told him he did not have to come; he understood why Christopher disliked churches, especially when it was filled with people, and did not want to force him to attend service with him. But he wanted to spend Christmas Eve with Felix, and so he put on his brave face and drove them back to St. Paul’s.

They arrived in time to help with preparations for the service. The other boys were busy setting up the nativity play and making some last-minute decoration changes. They cheerily welcomed Felix back home, complimenting and ruffling his hair, and if they found it strange that he had brought Christopher with him, they did not remark upon it. Seungmin handed him a wreath, instructing him to hang it somewhere near the main entrance. It was there where he met Father Gideon.

“Ah, Christopher! What a surprise. Are you here to attend the service?”

“Felix invited me. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not in the slightest,” Father Gideon said warmly. He gently clapped his shoulder in what was meant to be a friendly gesture, but Christopher had to resist the urge to recoil from the man. He frowned as Father Gideon made his way into the kitchen.

Christopher felt conflicted by Father Gideon. The pastor gave off mixed signals; one moment Christopher felt like he was talking to a progressive and loving man who only wanted what was best for the boys, and the other moment Father Gideon was cold and conservative, shouting at the boys for small things and not giving them the care they needed. Then there was the peculiar suspicion that Father Gideon, like Felix, was not affected by Christopher’s reaper nature. Or at least, not like other humans were. They could not make eye contact, but there seemed to be no other limitations.

Christopher shook his head. He was probably just overthinking it. Perhaps Father Gideon was just used to dealing with monsters, and only recognised Christopher for what he was.

Shouts arose from the nave, echoing through the space. Outside, pedestrians turned their heads to catch a glimpse of the scene. Christopher quickly closed the door and headed inside, already making a fairly accurate assumption of what was happening.

Father Albert and Felix stood near the dais. Felix was glaring at the older man, his arms defiantly crossed over his chest, his chin held high. The other boys stood a little further away from the scene, observing it with mixed reactions; Jisung was obviously rooting for Felix, proudly jutting his chest out to show everyone his rainbow badge; Seungmin’s face remained neutral, though his knuckles started turning white from gripping the pew too hard; Jeongin, one of the younger ones, stood next to Seungmin in near tears. Seungmin put his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and squeezed in reassuringly.

“Not on Christmas Eve,” he heard Jeongin mutter. “Not now.” Christopher frowned. He spoke as if this was a normal occurrence.

“What have you done to your hair?” Father Albert shouted in a pitched voice, stuttering through the question.

“I’ve coloured it,” Felix replied simply.

Father Gideon joined Christopher at the entrance and sighed upon seeing his colleague and Felix arguing. He shook his head disappointedly, and another flame of anger rose up in Christopher.

“That boy will be the death of me.”

“I doubt it,” Christopher replied coolly.

“He does it to spite us.”

Christopher turned. “He does it because he wants to. If you believe he dyes his hair a crazy colour and paints his nails because he wants to provoke you, you have obviously raised him wrong.”

“Do you have a problem with how we chose to raise Felix?” Father Gideon challenged him, his tone sharp.

“Felix is a kind and genuine person, but there is a lot of hurt and anger under it all.”

Father Gideon raised an eyebrow. “And you think we could have prevented that if we had raised him better?”

Christopher shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. You could have shown him support him, though.”

“The Lord is his support system. What kind of _support_ do you think we could have given him?” His tone had become venomous and hard, obviously not enjoying the criticism being thrown his way.

“The kind of support that does not make him think that getting drunk and wandering off to the most dangerous district in the city is the only option left for him. He was sad and depressed, and he should have been able to come to you for advice and comfort. Instead, he sought out death in a cold alleyway.” Christopher completely turned to Father Gideon, blocking his view of the nave. “I have not forgotten how you shamed him for his actions that night, as if it was not a direct result of your lack of care.”

The satisfaction Christopher felt at seeing Father Gideon turn red from anger was an exhilarating feeling. He enjoyed having an influence on someone that represented everything he hated. Once, they had had the upper hand over him, but at this moment, the roles were reversed, and Christopher relished the feeling.

“Felix has always been a disobedient child. He never listened, he never prayed to God. Our way of raising him has nothing to do with _this_.”

“ _Your way of raising him_? Is indoctrinating him to believe in God not a way of raising him? You talk about God as if He is a tangible being. But God is not in the here and now, you are. You cannot push your responsibilities onto something Felix might not even believe in. What do you think that does to his head? What do you think he feels when he is sad and you tell him he cannot come to you, that he is supposed to talk to something that does not even answer him? You have failed him, Father Gideon. I do not intend to do the same.”

Christopher turned away, walking between the pews to where Felix was standing. The argument had gone from bad to worse, with both men shouting at each other. There were tears in Felix’ eyes, streaming down his cheeks and staining his shirt. Father Albert did not care; he had just seen Felix’ new tattoo and was trying to rub the fresh ink off. Felix tried to pull his head arm out of his grasp, his face contorting in pain.

“Let go of me, you fucking prick!”

It immediately became clear to Christopher that whatever usually happened during arguments, Felix swearing at the Fathers was not a common occurrence. The nave fell completely silent. Even Felix seemed to be in shock at his own words. Father Albert stared at him with wide eyes, his hand still on Felix’ arm, though his grip was loosening.

“Leave,” Father Albert said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Leave now. I don’t want to see you again. You spoil everything! We should have never taken you in. If we knew what kind of trouble you’d be, we would’ve shipped you off to a different orphanage.”

The harsh _words_ struck home; Felix took a bewildered step back. No one said or did anything for a moment. It was obvious _this_ usually did not happen either. Christopher did not wait long to step in. He walked up to Felix and gently took his hand, pulling him away from Father Albert. There were many things he wanted to say to Father Albert, but he kept his tongue. It would not do any good, he just had to get Felix out of here.

Christopher pulled Felix along the pews, past his brothers and Father Gideon. There was a moment where Felix faltered, catching Father Gideon’s eye and silently pleading with him. But Father Gideon, no doubt still reeling from Christopher’s opinions of him, turned away and nodded at Father Albert.

It was the last betrayal. Felix fell back into Christopher’s arm and let himself be guided away to the car, his chest heaving with agonizing sobs Christopher was sure could still be heard in the church. He hoped the sound would haunt the Fathers forever.

***

Christopher drove around mindlessly, trying to console Felix the best he could, which was difficult when he was also trying to focus on the busy roads and their signs. He definitely preferred walking over driving. There were too many rules he had to remember, and Felix wailing next to him did not soothe his nerves.

“They will come around,” Christopher said.

“I’m dying in – in a week and – and they think I hate – hate them,” Felix heavy sobs. “And now they – they hate me!” he cried, pressing his hands to his eyes.

“They do not hate you,” Christopher said, though the words rang untrue even in his ears. Well, perhaps they did not _hate_ him, but he doubted they liked him very much at this moment. And now Felix was forced to spend Christmas Eve, and perhaps even Christmas Day with Christopher, who was as festive and fun as a teaspoon. This was not how he had wanted Felix to spend his last Christmas alive. It should have been relaxing, a time for Felix to spend with his family. He was crying instead.

“I need to go back,” Felix said, sounding clear all of a sudden. He rubbed the tears away and cleared his throat. “I need to apologise to them. We need to go back.”

Christopher hesitated. “I can take you back if you want. But I think you should calm down a bit and think about it first before you go and hurry back to St. Paul’s, apologising for something you really should not have to apologise for. What Father Gideon and Father Albert did and said to you was bad.”

Felix let out an annoyed sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have a biased opinion because of what happened to you. Just because they’re pastors doesn’t mean they’re bad people. Stop pushing _your_ view of religion onto _me_ ,” he spat.

The words stung. Other reapers, the ones who had been religious in their human life and still were as a reaper, had often chastised him whenever he spoke ill of their God or religion. It never bothered him, but Felix’ words did. Christopher knew he could be difficult about religion. Felix had been very patient with him so far, listening to his ramblings and holding his tongue whenever Christopher disrespected something that was such a big part of life. So he did not think he was undeserving of those words, but they still hurt. He pushed them down and locked them away. He would not think about them now, or ever.

“I know our views on religion differ, and though I do not act like it, I completely respect yours. But I was not talking about that. I am not talking about their profession or the way they choose to practice it. I am talking about them as your _guardians_ , your _parents_ , and in that respect, I do not think they were in the right.”

Felix stared. “You think I was in the right for calling Father Albert a fucking prick?”

“Felix,” Christopher started. A shudder rolled through Felix’ body, and Christopher came to the sudden realisation that he might have not been the only one who liked it when his name was said in such a low tone. Just like Felix’ harsh words, he pushed that thought away as well. “I have seen enough children left heartbroken because their parents would not accept them for who they were. Once they became of legal age, they left their home and never looked back again. I am sure Father Gideon and Father Albert are good people, but there is more to parenting than only providing a roof over a child’s head and supplying them with food to stay alive. There is more to it than only being there for their child when _they_ think it is of importance, and you might not like it, but there is more to comforting a child than only telling them that praying to God will solve their problems.”

“How do you seem so know so much about this stuff, then? Do you have an army of children or something? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Christopher ignored the implication of that last statement. “I want to comfort you, Felix. I do not want you to ever be ashamed of who you are.”

Felix snorted. “You don’t even know who I am. We met a few weeks ago, don’t pretend to know _anything_ about me, reaper. I don’t need comfort from my will-be-murderer.” He snorted again. “What a shitshow. As if I need another reminder that I’m going to die in a week. I think I was better off not knowing.”

Christopher did not say anything to that. He knew Felix was troubled by the overwhelming sense of guilt of yelling at Father Albert, and so he told himself not to take it personally, but he subtly turned right on an intersection and then right again on the next one, circling back to St. Paul’s.

Neither of them talked. Felix was sulking, and Christopher was trying not to poke the bear. He was convinced Felix would burst if Christopher so much as made a sound. The tension was thick, and Christopher winced inwardly every time Felix huffed indignantly at his own thoughts, afraid he would direct it at him.

So Christopher was surprised when Felix opened his mouth, and quiet words flowed from it. “My doubt in my religion began when I was four years old. Father Gideon told me putting me in an orphanage had all been part of God’s plan. He told a four-year-old that his parents abandoned him because God wanted to. It messed me up pretty badly, but being four years old, I didn’t know how to process it. And then I grew up, and I realised I was different from the rest of my brothers, in more ways than one. I was always told those kinds of people were sinners, and that they would end up in hell. I learned to hate myself from a very young age.

“But then I talked to some other teens who went to St. Paul’s, and who had gone through the same thing. They told me that they took a step back from religion, that a lot of religious kids turned atheist after they realised their church would not accept them for who they were. But these kids took a step back to evaluate their relationship with God, and decided that their identities could exist _next_ to their relationship with God. They told me that the decision to honour God in their own way, without adhering to their churches’ rules, was the best they had ever made. It had given them the peace they had needed to continue on with their lives.

“So that’s what I did. I took a step back. I stopped coming to service with the others and I didn’t pray either. I spoke to Him in my own way, and though it took some time to get used to it, for it to calm my troubled mind, it worked. I started feeling less anxious and more confident. But I prefer to keep it to myself, and the Fathers always want it to be so fucking public. So they think I don’t pray, and that I’m disloyal and that I’m not a believer anymore.

“I’ve spent a lot of time educating myself on the LGTBQ+ community, and I’ve tried to teach the Fathers these things as well, but I was always deadly afraid they would throw me out if they found out I was gay.”

Christopher understood completely where he was coming from. He had experienced these same struggles and doubts when he was a human, and he wished someone would have told _him_ that honouring God could be done in many different ways. Perhaps he would not have turned out so bitter towards everything-religion. When he became a reaper, and he learned the truth about the gods, it was truly over for him and religion.

Felix’ eyes widened as they took a left and St. Paul’s came into view. The parking lot was filled with cars, and the ones that did not fit into the tiny spaces had been parked on the street. It was the busiest Christopher had ever seen. He stopped the car in front of the driveway. Inside, they were singing a Christmas carol.

“We came back,” Felix said quietly.

“You should spend Christmas Eve with your family. Even if you are fighting, you are still family.”

Felix nodded and unbuckled his belt. He raised his eyebrow at Christopher when he noticed he was not doing the same. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

Christopher shook his head. “I cannot force you to change your opinions on religion for me, but I can also not force _myself_ to discard my own opinions on it for you. We should not change ourselves to appeal to the other, so the next time I say something you do not like, tell me. Just because I have suffered a trauma does not mean I get to be an asshole about it.”

Felix swallowed a lump of emotion in his throat and nodded again. “I can come back after service?”

Christopher smiled and laid his hand on the nape of Felix’ neck, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. They moved slowly and deliberately, and Christopher hoped he could convey all of his feelings through the kiss. He combed his fingers through Felix’ hair, softly tugging at the strands. Felix opened his mouth and prodded at Christopher’s lips with his tongue, but Christopher pulled back. Felix pouted.

“Go inside, love. Call me if you need anything.”

Felix got out of the car and entered the church through the side entrance. Christopher saw the nervous twitch of his legs as he propped the door open with his foot. They waved at each other, and then Felix was gone.

Christopher imagined Felix praying tonight, in a house where no God longer resided to listen to him. It did not worry Christopher as much as it usually did. If Felix could find other ways to talk to Him, then God could find a way to listen.


	16. promises should not be made lightly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mention of suicide

Christopher had not heard anything from Felix that night, even though he had waited until nearly five in the morning for Felix to call. He was not sure whether or not Felix’ silence was a good thing. Felix had been having a good time with his family, and there had been no reason for him to call Christopher. Still, Christopher had kept his phone and its incoming call sound on, and it had not left his hand or pocket. But Felix had not called and Christopher had drifted into an uneasy sleep, and when he awoke a few hours later, there were no new notifications.

Painful disappointment filled his chest as he got out of bed to get ready for the day. _To do what_? If Felix had wanted to see him, to let him know how the conversation with the Fathers had gone, he would have called already. It was already nearing noon, and Christopher knew they were having a Christmas Day service at St Paul’s today. At ten o’clock. It had likely already ended. Yet Felix had not called yet.

Perhaps he was still upset with Christopher. All the more reason to not go by the church today. Christopher decided then that if Felix wanted to see or talk to Christopher, he would call. _Yes_ , he thought, _I will not contact him_. With that new resolution, Christopher went downstairs to sit in the lobby and write some more in his notebook.

Over the past few days, Christopher had made it a habit to chronicle his and Felix’ adventures in his little notebook. When it first only contained accounts of his life as a human, it now also held the stories of the last few weeks, since the day he and Felix met. He was not sure why he had felt the compulsion to write everything down, but it somehow felt like the most important thing he could right now. Maybe someday, someone would find the notebook and write a book about them, and how their love story had unfolded.

Christopher settled down into the most comfortable chair near the back, where the light was scarce and the shadows welcomed him. Now that Minho was gone, no one came looking for him anymore. He was deep into his writing, giving a detailed report of the conversation he had had with Felix the night before, including all the hurtful words that had spoken, when he was proven wrong about no one seeking him out. Hyunjin plopped himself down in the chair next to him, his posture casual and his face contorted in tiresome mischief. Christopher knew that look all too well. He sighed and closed his notebook, the pen still between the pages, and tucked it into his pocket.

Hyunjin had only been a reaper for a few years now, and Christopher had been his trainer. His training had gone exceptionally well; Christopher had deemed him ready to become a full reaper only a year after his death, with only fifteen supervised assignments under his belt. Hyunjin was popular amongst the reapers, but nothing could beat the love the fates had for him. His quota had been set at a much lower amount than the other younger reapers, though Christopher was the only one who knew that titbit of information. The older reapers would not take it well if they found out a newbie would likely retire before them.

“Can I help you?” Christopher asked.

“Heard you’re facing your challenge,” Hyunjin said.

“I am.”

“What is it?”

“What was yours?” Christopher asked sharply.

Hyunjin had already undergone his own challenge, which had apparently taken place not long after his initiation. Christopher had heard from his senior that Hyunjin had passed his challenge, and he had wondered why Hyunjin had not mentioned anything of it to him. They had never been extremely close, but they had gotten along fine. Christopher _had_ been his trainer, after all, and there was a sort of trust between trainer and trainee. Whenever Christopher asked Hyunjin about his challenge, the latter would always keep his lips sealed tight, just like he was doing now. Though their challenges were never fun to talk about, it was an unwritten rule the reapers _would_ share their stories. It was a part of their comradery.

“Not in the mood for sharing?” Christopher asked, returning to his notebook.

“Does your challenge have anything to do with the human standing outside on the road looking at pretty much nothing?” Hyunjin asked, an annoying grin appearing on his face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look for yourself,” Hyunjin said, gesturing to the windows. “They have purple hair.” There was amusement in his voice. “Who is it?”

Christopher left the question unanswered and nearly ran to the window. It had to be Felix. He moved the curtain out of the way, and lo and behold; Felix was standing in the middle of the road, staring up at something just left of the hotel. He was a distance away, but Christopher recognised the lavender hair.

Felix could not see the hotel. It had been visible to him once, but Christopher had been with him then. Though normal humans _could_ see the hotel, they forgot the sight immediately and always turned around. Felix could not forget it because he had memories from being _inside_. It was tricky magic, though obviously, it worked. Felix stood still in the middle of the road and kept turning his head as if the hotel would suddenly appear to him if he looked away for a moment.

Hyunjin joined him at the window. “You should go to him before another reaper does. Some are getting unsettled by his presence out there. It’s better if you take him inside, away from prying his eyes.” He had dropped his teasing tone and was urging him on with severity.

It was freezing cold outside, and Christopher wondered how long Felix had been standing there already. He saw him coming though, and he waved frantically, running up to him with careful steps.

“Chris!” he said, falling into him. He put his arms around Christopher’s waist, and Christopher was so taken aback by the act, Christopher froze in place for a moment. He was just about to put his own arms around Felix when he pulled back.

“I thought you were never going to come out!” Felix said, a smile on his face. His nose was red from the cold and he snivelled slightly. “I thought you’d already left.”

“Why did you not ring me? I did not miss your call, did I?” He made to fish his phone from his pocket, but Felix put his hand on Christopher’s arm. He shook his head.

“Father Gideon took it. He said I am allowed to have it back in the new year. Back luck, eh?” Felix said. “Can we go inside? I’m so cold.” He shuddered to demonstrate his current state, and Christopher put his arm around Felix as he led him inside again. He had forgotten to make Felix see the hotel again, so once they stepped inside, Felix gasped, looking around in the lobby.

“Jesus, that’s weird.”

“Apologies,” Christopher said meekly. “Shall we go up to my apartment? I can make some tea for you.”

“Sure,” Felix said, unzipping his coat and sighing at the comfortable warmth.

They met Hyunjin in the lift, who was holding the door for them. The button for the thirteenth floor had already been pressed. Hyunjin did not live on the thirteenth floor. Christopher gave him a warning look, but Hyunjin promptly ignored him. “How are you?” he asked Felix, jutting his hand out. Felix only faltered for a moment before he placed his own hand in Hyunjin’s and shook it lightly.

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Splendid. How do you know Christopher?”

Felix stared at Hyunjin. “I met him at night in a dark corridor. He was trying to kill me.”

Christopher fell back into the lift wall, while Hyunjin tilted his head in interest. “Ah. I see. How romantic.”

“A love story like no other, I’m sure,” Felix said sweetly.

“Love story?” Hyunjin repeated, his eyes twinkling.

“Hyunjin,” Christopher warned. “It is not your business.” He did not want to pressure Felix into anything, to put labels on their relationship when he might not have been ready for that. They had not discussed it, with their impending death and all that.

But Felix was not slighted. “Yes, love story.” He looped his arm around Christopher’s and leaned into him, placing his head on Christopher’s arm. “He’s my boyfriend.”

A surprised sound escaped from Hyunjin and he coughed to cover it up. “Well. Congratulations, I guess?”

“Thanks,” Felix replied.

They were saved from further conversation by the doors sliding open, and Hyunjin was the first one to leave the lift. Christopher watched him make his way to the end of the corridor, opening the door to the stairwell. He shook his head in amusement.

“I trained him,” Christopher said as he unlocked his door. “Trouble, that one is.”

“I bet,” Felix said, placing his bag on the table and throwing himself down on the sofa.

“How did it go, yesterday? If Father Gideon took your phone, I take it it did not go well?”

Felix shrugged and waved his hand in dismissal. “They weren’t happy with me, of course. I apologised for lashing out at Father Albert, but I refused to apologise for any of the other things I did. I explained that they’d made me feel unaccepted in my own home and that them pushing me towards _their_ way of believing forced me further away from God. They listened to me, at least, though I’m not sure how much they actually took in. I came out with it all, literally. Told them about me being gay, and how you were not my family but my boyfriend. How I’ve tried to, you know, unalive myself multiple times, and how much they’ve hurt me by invalidating my mental health. Father Gideon seemed apologetic, but it didn’t go any further than _seeming_. He never actually apologised, not even after I had burst out in tears after confessing it all. They won’t kick me out, but they don’t really want me to stay with the church after I’m eighteen either.”

“I am so sorry to hear that, Felix. I had wished that they would put their beliefs aside to accept you.”

Felix shrugged. “It’s not great to hear, no, but I told them I’ll be out of their hair soon enough. They looked relieved at that. Not going to lie, that did hurt a bit. Well, I suppose I know what their reaction will be like when I die.”

“Do not say that!” Christopher said, sitting down next to him and taking his hands in his own. “They will mourn you, I know they will.”

Felix waved again. “I know, I know. I know they do care about me, they just care more about God.”

“I am sorry.”

“So am I. I shouldn’t have said those things to you yesterday in the car.”

Christopher turned away, he felt himself getting hot. He had hoped they could have just pretended it had not happened. “That is alright.”

Felix shook his head and held his chin, gently turning his face around again. “It’s not. I was upset and hurt and I lashed out at you. I shouldn’t have. I know you’ve struggled a lot, and I know how difficult it must be for you to keep returning to a place where your life was ruined. I saw how anxious that made you, yet I didn’t say anything about it, and you kept coming. For me. I really, _really_ appreciate you doing that.”

“And I really, _really_ appreciate you not losing your cool whenever I talked badly of your religion. I know that must have also been difficult for you. Let us call a truce, alright? You will forgive me and I forgive you in return.”

Felix laughed. “That sounds good.” He caressed Christopher’s cheek and leaned in for a sweet but short kiss. Somehow, Felix still managed to take Christopher’s breath away. He just wanted to pull Felix in, to never let him go, to commit the feeling of his lips to his memory, to keep replaying the little sounds Felix made while they kissed because they made his legs go all shaky.

Felix pulled away again, his eyes still closed, and Christopher took that moment to admire Felix in his entirety. He was so beautiful, so angelic, Christopher just wanted to devour him.

“I’ve got something for you,” Felix said, pulling his bag closer. From it, he fished a small package, wrapped in ugly and corny Christmas paper with a bow to top it off.

Christopher smiled. “So I can cross number eleven off the list?” he asked, taking the gift and admiring the way Felix had carefully wrapped it.

“Well, that depends on if you actually like it, though I’m sure you will.”

Christopher started unwrapping it and came to a sudden realisation. “I do not think I have ever received a gift.” Felix gasped in surprise. “It was not common when I was a human to give each other gifts. Not in the way humans do it now. Besides, my family did not have enough money to buy us gifts.”

“What about your birthday?”

Christopher laughed. “We did not celebrate those either. That did not become a tradition until I had already been a reaper for about fifty years.”

“So this is your first-ever gift?” Christopher nodded. “Well, if I’d known that, I would have gotten you something more special.”

Christopher smiled shyly. “Receiving a gift from you is already special enough.”

“Well aren’t you the sweetest reaper ever?” Felix asked while laughing, pinching Christopher’s cheek.

Christopher tore the rest of the paper off, sliding his hand over the smooth surface of the little black box. There was no brand name on it, though it looked to be the appropriate size for jewellery. When he shook it, there was a slight jingle inside.

“Just open it, you dork,” Felix laughed.

Christopher opened it, and inside was the same colour black padding with a sleek silver ring pressed into it in the middle. It was unmistakably a wedding band. Christopher stared at it for a few moments, unable to gather his thoughts, and he felt Felix shift uncomfortably beside him.

“I know we never really got a chance to have a proper relationship and everything, but I would have liked to think that if we’d met under very circumstances, preferably where you were human and I wasn’t about to die, that we could have maybe had a future together. I know it’s a bit corny,” Felix said, shyly holding up his own left hand. He had wedged an identical silver ring on his finger.

“I love it,” Christopher said hoarsely. His voice was thick with emotion, and he had to stop speaking and swallow a few times before he could get another word out. “I hope it was not too expensive.”

“Oh, it was. But that’s okay. I had some savings from odd jobs I did, and I went all out on the boys’ Christmas gifts as well. The rest of my money will be donated to charity once I’ve passed.”

“Thank you, Felix,” Christopher said. He held it up to the light and inspected the inside. _Chris & Felix - 20-12-2020 _ was engraved into it. Christopher smiled as slid the ring unto his finger and admired it. “It is perfect.” He pulled Felix into a kiss, laughing against his lips. “I did not get anything for you.”

“You’ve given me enough gifts. Right,” Felix said. “I have to take a piss. I forgot to go after the service and standing outside for an hour didn’t help my full bladder. Don’t lose that ring,” he warned jokingly.

Christopher twisted the ring around his finger to get used to the feeling. His eye caught Felix’ tote bag, and specifically the envelope nearly falling out from it. _A Christmas card_ , Christopher thought excitedly. He had never received a Christmas card either. He pulled it out of the bag and did not bother to flip it around to confirm it actually was for him, which he definitely should have done, because not only was it rude to just take things without permission, if he _had_ looked on the front of the envelope, he would have seen Felix’ name, and he would have put it back again. But he pulled the card – or rather, the letter – from the envelope and unfolded it without a second thought. His smile disappeared as he started reading it.

_Dear Felix,_

_I’m aware you don’t know who I am and I’m really not even sure how I should introduce myself. My name is Alice. Just over seventeen years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, but I was homeless and could not take care of a baby on my own, so I decided to leave him on the doorstep of St. Paul’s, knowing that they would find you a good home._

_A few months ago, I contacted Father Gideon to ask about your whereabouts and I was delighted when I heard you were actually living at the church. I’ve been wondering how to approach you, and I thought the easiest way was to write a letter._

_I’m your mother, and I would love to get to know you if you want that as well. I know this is so very weird and out of the blue, and I would completely understand it if you don’t want to meet me or if you want to correspond first or something like that. I’ve left my return address on the back of the envelope if you’d like to write to me._

_I hope you’re doing well, and happy holidays!_

_Love,_   
_Alice_

Christopher clutched the letter so tightly it nearly ripped apart in his hands. His mother. His mother had contacted him. Just a few days shy of his death, Felix had finally received the letter he had been waiting for his entire life. Did he actually know what the letter said? Or did he expect Christopher to read it for him?

And Father Gideon had known as well. Yet when he had introduced himself as Felix’ cousin, saying his aunt – Felix’ mother – had passed away, he had pretended to believe him.

He was just about to put the letter down when Felix emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hands on his jeans. His gaze fell to the letter in Christopher’s hand, and from the look on his face, Christopher concluded Felix already knew very well what the letter entailed.

“Jisung read it to me,” Felix said quietly. “Bit ill-timed, right?”

“What are you going to do?” Christopher said.

Felix frowned. “What do you mean? Obviously, I’m not going to do anything.”

“This is your family,” Christopher said.

“My brothers are my family. The Fathers are my family. Hell, even you are my family. I’m sure this Alice is nice and wonderful and has had to deal with a lot of shit, but she doesn’t mean anything to me. Why would I want to spend the last few days of my life with someone I don’t know and try to build something up that can never be there?”

“You really do not want to meet her?” Christopher asked, his voice small.

Felix walked over to the sofa and put his hands on Christopher’s shoulder. He deeply stared into Christopher’s eyes for a few seconds before saying: “I want to be with you.” He sat down on Christopher’s laps and straddled him, bringing their mouths together.

Felix seemed desperate to prove something. His kiss was urgent. His hands raked over Christopher’s body, under his clothes, scratching at his skin, pulling at the fabric of his shirt to tug it off. Christopher was so far gone, he could barely breathe. Felix was on him, moving his hips in such a way Christopher felt tight butterflies in his stomach.

“Felix,” he breathed.

“Chris,” Felix responded. “Let me stay with you, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

Felix kissed him fervently, his lips moving from his mouth to his cheek, and then his jaw, and then his neck. “Please,” he said, planting feather-light kisses at the base of Christopher’s throat. “Please let me stay.”

Christopher breathed loudly, a strangled moan coming out of his mouth. His brain was all muddled, the sensation of Felix pressed up against him and moving his hips too much for his brain to simultaneously formulate a sentence.

“Chris?” Felix asked, his voice more unsure this time. He stopped moving and pulled away from Christopher to check up on him.

Christopher searched Felix’ eyes for a few moments and then nodded. “Stay with me.”


	17. every right has its responsibilities

When Christopher rolled over in bed, the space next to him was empty, just like it always was in the morning. It did not concern him initially, the sleep still heavy in his eyes and mind. Then he saw a figure by the window. He rubbed his eyes and blinked against the light. Recognition seeped in.

Felix was kneeling by the window, his elbows placed on the low windowsill and his head leaning against his folded hands. His eyes were closed in concentration. Christopher rolled over and leaned his head in his hand, admiring Felix in the early and quiet morning hours.

“Like what you see?” Felix asked, his eyes still closed. He had sharp ears, or just a keen sense of knowing when he was being watched.

Christopher smiled. “Admiring the view.”

Felix dropped his arms and gave him a pointed look. “You just like me in this position,” he teased.

“That, too,” Christopher said. A grin appeared on his face. “Come back to bed.”

Felix sat down on the bed and combed his hand through Christopher’s hair. “I need to go. I wasn’t even allowed to go out. The Fathers will have my head. I will probably lose my ‘being able to walk out whenever I want’ privileges.

“Then what difference do an extra few minutes make?” He patted the empty space next to him. “Just for a cuddle.”

Felix laughs. “Fine. But only for a few minutes.” He folded himself back into Christopher’s body, and the latter covered them by the thick blanket. They curled up together and sighed contently. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

“Me too.”

Felix turned so he was facing Christopher. “Are you afraid of dying? I mean, I know you’re not really dying, but are you afraid of not existing anymore?”

Christopher knew the answer to that question. He had asked it himself many times before and had extensively discussed it with his fellow reapers. His younger colleagues were always so full of determination and spirit, but the older ones, the ones coming close to retirement, said they could not wait until they could live as a human again. Christopher belonged to the latter group.

“There is always the slight discomfort of knowing one day you will stop to be, but I welcome that new beginning. When I died, as a human, I was not ready for it. I was frightened beyond belief. It was so sudden, I had not even really had the time to prepare. Yet now, I have been ready for some time now.”

Felix was quiet for some time. “I keep telling myself it’s okay, that I’ve accepted it. But then when I actually think about it, about dying, I get all clammy, and my breathing gets shallow. I don’t think I’m actually ready.”

“You are not,” Christopher murmured. “You cannot be until you have lived a thousand lifetimes. You have not even lived a quarter of yours.”

Neither of them spoke about it again. They laid in bed for another few minutes before getting up and getting dressed for the day. Felix needed to go back to St. Paul’s, and hopefully, the Fathers would not be too strict on him.

The ride back into town was mostly quiet. Felix was still in his own headspace, the terror of knowing his own time of death occupying his mind. Since Christopher had revealed his identity and what he had come to do, Felix had been brave. He had made offhand comments about it, genuine jokes they had both laughed at, but Christopher also knew the news had taken a toll on him, and that he had not really accepted it yet. And Christopher did not expect him to.

That night when Felix found out, Felix had asked if there was a possibility of undoing their fate. It had hurt Christopher having to bluntly tell him that: no, there was nothing they could do about it. Even if Christopher would not have been the one to do it, a different reaper would do it, and no, there was no use in hiding. They would find him.

St. Paul’s doors were closed for a change, and the sight sparked discomfort in both of them. Felix sat up and his eyes followed the church as Christopher parked the car near the front. Next to a police car. Felix groaned in his seat once he spotted it. Christopher grimaced as well.

Inside was a flurry of voices, ones Christopher recognised and ones he did not. The Fathers were stood near the dais, shaking their heads and looking down. Father Gideon’s eyes were rimmed red, and he swiped at his nose every few seconds. The other boys were sitting in the pews. They were being questioned in small groups by men in varying shades of boring suits, notepad and half-chewed pens in their hands to scribble down whatever seemed useful to them. None of them had noticed Felix coming in yet, and so Felix took it all in with wonder.

“Shit,” Felix said, more loudly than he intended. All at once, heads turned their way, and Felix gave a little uncomfortable wave. “Hi,” he said. “Uh, what’s going on?”

No one answered him for a second, then there was an explosion of sound. The boys tripped over each other trying to get to Felix, picking each other up and shoving each other out of the way. Jisung was the first to reach him. He threw himself at his brother and squeezed him so tightly Felix started going purple.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Jisung whispered. “We were so fucking worried about you when you didn’t come back. I told Father Gideon you’d just gone out for a stroll, but when you hadn’t returned by dinner, I told him the truth. That you’d gone looking for Chris.”

At the mention of his name, their heads turned to Christopher, and the reaper desperately wanted to sink back into the shadows. All eyes were on him now, and judging from the way they were staring him down, they had spent the last fifteen hours villainising him, moulding him into someone they could easily despise.

The detectives made their way through the pews and joined the duo, looking them both up and down. “Felix?” one of them asked. Felix nodded weakly. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I went out to find Chris,” Felix said, gesturing behind him. “I wanted to apologise to him for something I had said, but my phone had been taken away, so I went to his house. I wasn’t planning on staying the whole evening, but then we lost track on time, and then it was already so late I decided to sleep over. I had no idea…”

“You couldn’t have called?” Father Albert piped up from behind the group of people. He and Father Gideon made their way through and came to stand before Felix. “Christopher has a phone, and our number is public information.” Felix hung his head. They had not thought of that. Christopher wanted to hit himself. How could he not have thought about the repercussions?

“We would like to talk to the both of you,” the detective said sternly. “Separately.”

A serious-looking detective in a brown suit whisked Felix away, and Christopher was guided to the kitchen by a small man in a black suit. The man took a seat the farthest away from Christopher, and then pushed his chair to the back so he was sitting flush against the counter. Had the situation not been so dire, he would have laughed at the clear fright the detective was experiencing.

“Please have a seat, Mr..?”

“Bang,” Christopher said. His family name sounded strange on his tongue. He silently thanked himself for spending so much time reading through the little notebook. He would not have never remembered the name had he not seen it scribbled down fifteen different times.

“Mr Bang, my name is Detective Min. I hope you see the severity of this situation.”

“I do, sir.”

“What is your relationship with Felix?”

Christopher hesitated. He would have very much liked to lie and say there were just friends, possibly family, but he knew Felix was being asked the same question right now, and he also knew Felix would proudly tell the truth. And even if they both lied, Felix had already told the Fathers and they would have told the police. There really was no use in lying.

“We are together,” Christopher said confidently.

Detective Min raised his eyebrows. “You are aware he is still a minor? How old are you Mr Bang?”

“I am twenty-two, sir.”

Detective Min huffed and scribbled the number down on his notepad. “Did you force Felix to stay with you?”

“No, sir. He stayed of his own accord.”

“Did you engage in sexual activities?” he asked, his tone almost bored. He did not take his eyes of his notepad, though Christopher knew that was only because he did not want to look at him.

Christopher did not hesitate. “No sir, we did not.” They had gone to bed, kissing each other wildly as if there had been no tomorrow. They had laid twisted in each other’s limbs, telling each other about their dreams and fantasies. Though there had been a tension in the air, the want for something _more_ than just that closeness, they had both left it undisturbed, and Christopher knew they had made the right decision.

“Alright then.” Detective Min stood up. “That will be all for now. Write down your phone number in case we need to contact you.”

Detective Min left, and Christopher took his notepad and pen to scribble down his name and phone number (he had to search for his own contact in his phone to remember his number) when he heard footsteps coming back into the kitchen. Likely Detective Min to retrieve his things. He slid the notepad back to the other side of the table.

“I have left my information,” Christopher said, already getting up again. It was not Detective Min who had come into the kitchen. Father Gideon stood in front of him, a sour look on his face. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“So,” Father Gideon said.

“So,” Christopher repeated.

“Had fun with Felix?”

Christopher shrugged. “Sure.”

Father Gideon charged forward, his hands grabbing Christopher’s collar. The man was stronger than Christopher had anticipated, and he panicked for a second. “You dirty bastard!” Father Gideon growled.

“We did not do anything!” Christopher said in defence of himself. “He stayed the night but nothing happened!”

The two men struggled for a few more seconds before Christopher managed to push him off. “Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, straightening out his clothes.

“Don’t you dare use that name in vain!” Father Gideon warned. “You have a total disregard for the rules, don’t you? You don’t care at all what happens to Felix!”

“Of course, I care!”

“No!” Father Gideon shouted. “You don’t! I don’t care how much you dislike me or what I do. I don’t care if you think we’re all a bunch of crazy people. I don’t care what you think of how we raised Felix or how you think we haven’t cared for him properly. I have made my mistakes, certainly when it came to Felix, and I’m trying to better myself in that aspect. But that does not mean that you can just take him away whenever you please. Felix is seventeen, a minor, and he’s still under _my_ care. You’re an adult, for heaven’s sake! So no, I don’t care what you think of me, you should have sent Felix back yesterday because it was the _responsible_ thing to do.”

Christopher wanted to defend himself, to tell Father Gideon that Felix had wanted to stay as much as Christopher had wanted him to, that there had never been any manipulation or forcefulness. But he knew the pastor was right. Christopher should have known better, he should have just taken him back to St. Paul’s yesterday.

“I am sorry,” Christopher said. He hung his head. “I should have. You are right.”

The apology seemed to calm Father Gideon down. Enough to make him sit down, anyway. He tiredly rubbed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have taken his phone,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have punished him for confessing and sharing his feelings. That was wrong of me to do.”

“He just wants you to understand him,” Christopher said, sitting down as well, glad he was not being attacked anymore and that Father Gideon seemed open to an honest conversation. “He does not want to fight with you.”

“I knew he was not just going out for a stroll. I knew he’d gone out to do something else, and I prayed that he had opted to seek you out instead of his usual getaway. That stuck with me, you know, what you told me that day. That we made him feel like his only option to deal with a difficult situation was to drink himself to death.”

“Perhaps I was a bit harsh,” Christopher admitted.

Father Gideon shook his head. “I don’t think so. As a parent, it’s difficult to be told that your child is suffering because of you. When I was young, I devoted my life to God, and I thought my devotion to Him would not get in the way of raising the boys. But it did. Of course, it did. It was foolish of me to believe that by raising them the way I wanted, they would _turn out_ the way I wanted. I wanted what I thought was best for Felix, though I have recently come to understand that _my_ best for him is _his_ worst nightmare.” Father Gideon smiled ruefully. “That’s why I’m happy he met you. You’ve made him _talk_ to us. He never used to share anything with us.”

Christopher thought that had more to do with the fact that Felix now knew he was dying than with Christopher as a person.

“Father Gideon? You knew I was not his cousin, right? His mother had contacted you a few months before.”

Father Gideon sighed. “Well, to be honest, it was a bit of a gamble. You could have been his family. I mean, I hadn’t heard from Alice in a while, so you could have easily been telling the truth about her sudden death. I didn’t think you were actually his cousin, but I must admit, I was curious as to _who_ you were. Plus, I wanted Felix to have some more friends. He doesn’t have any at school, except for his brothers.”

“I am sorry I acted so recklessly,” Christopher apologised again.

“We were so worried,” Father Gideon said. “I immediately called the police, and because he had run away once before, the outcome of it already known to you, the police took this a lot more seriously. They were going past all the hospitals, asking if someone had come in. They searched Worker’s District from top to bottom, combed through every bar and club, yet they couldn’t find Felix. And I didn’t know your address or your number _or_ your last name, and no one knew Felix’ passcode to his phone so we couldn’t call you either. I felt so hopeless.”

“I am really sorry we made you feel that way. I can honestly tell you we never intended to worry you. Neither of us even thought about it.”

Father Gideon sighed. “I’d hate to think Felix thought we wouldn’t care if he came home or not. He seemed so surprised when he came in today and saw how worried everyone was.”

“Well, he did say you and Father Albert looked particularly relieved when he said he would be out of your hair soon.”

Father Gideon looked shocked at this. “We couldn’t be farther from relieved!” he exclaimed. “We have our differences but he’s still our child. He could stay here for the rest of his life, for all I care!”

 _He will_ , Christopher thought. But Father Gideon’s surprise brought another thought with it. Christopher could not pretend to understand the complex relationship between Felix and Father Gideon, but he knew that the bottom line was that they loved each other very much. Christopher felt guilty about always having lashed out at Father Gideon. Though he still disagreed with him on many things concerning Felix, he felt inclined to listen now.

Felix obviously saw things in a different light, and Christopher wondered whether or not he had put on Felix-coloured glasses to judge situations. He had always taken Felix’ side on every argument and disagreement, because he _hated_ religion and _loved_ Felix. Christopher wondered then how differently he would see everything if he could assess situations with an objective eye.

But how would things have turned out if Christopher had only ever stayed on that neutral middle ground that came with objectivity? He remembered how good it had felt when Felix had agreed and sided with him when Christopher had shared the things he had done to the people who had wronged him in his human life, even though they both knew what he had done was inexcusably wrong. Felix probably loved the feeling that came with receiving the kind of loyalty Christopher had always given him, and Christopher could not blame him.

It proved that love made you see things _exactly_ how you wanted to see it and that the truth could easily be discarded in favour of siding with a loved one. It was a dangerous thing; being in love with someone and thinking only _your_ love was good enough for them.


	18. i must have flowers, always, and always

Christopher and Father Gideon had come to some sort of understanding, and seemingly so had Felix and the Fathers, because Felix had not lost his ‘being able to walk out whenever I want’ privileges. Felix had to be back before dinner and was not allowed to stay the night anymore, but other than those two rules, the Fathers had granted him the freedom he wanted. So three days before January first, Christopher picked Felix up to tick off the last things from his bucket list.

Christopher waited inside, truly inside, while Felix got ready. The decorations were still up, though some of the garlands had broken already – cheap strings were to blame – and the Christmas tree was also meeting an early end. The atmosphere was calmer, and it did not smell as bad as it normally did. Things had settled down in St. Paul’s. That peaceful bubble would burst in just a few days.

Father Gideon came up to him and they engaged in polite small talk. It was weird talking to Father Gideon without them saying nasty things to each other. Father Albert also came up, but they were not as friendly towards each other. He was not as forgiving towards him _or_ Felix, not like Father Gideon was, but then again, Father Gideon had not been the one to be called a fucking prick.

Felix came downstairs with a little bounce in his step. He had dressed up for the occasion: he wore light washed jeans with a pink jumper and the collar of a plaid shirt peeking out over it. It was obvious from Father’s Gideon’s reaction he usually did not dress up like this. Felix became bashful when Father Gideon complimented him, and he could barely look at Christopher as he raked his eyes over Felix.

“Have fun, boys,” Father Gideon said. “Don’t be a cheapskate and get some photos for me too.”

“Will do,” Felix said, and with a wave, they were off. Once outside, Christopher took hold of Felix’ hand and spun him into his body, casually circling his arm around his shoulders. Felix laughed into his chest.

“I missed you too,” Felix said, his voice muffled. Christopher waited until they were inside the car to kiss him, fervently and passionately, until Felix was so dazed he had momentarily forgotten where they were. He bit his lip. “I liked that.”

Christopher laughed, an actual laugh, and the car filled with the sound of it. “Me too. Be a good boy for me and I might reward you,” he said. Felix gulped and stared straight ahead, even though there was nothing in front of him but a wall. Christopher laughed again and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “You are already a good boy. Let us go now. We do not want to be late.”

This was the last day they would spend crossing things off from Felix’ bucket list. He wanted to spend the last two days with his family, saying goodbye in ways that would not worry them and leaving them with good memories only.

They drove to a florist located downtown. Christopher had booked the morning slot to make floral centrepieces, and later they would pose with their creations. Felix was most looking forward to the photoshoot. Aside from school photos, he had never had his photo taken professionally.

“What’s your theme going to be?” Felix asked excitedly.

Christopher gave him a quizzical look. “Uh? Flowery?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Well, _I_ have done some research, and I think I want my arrangement to consist of green and pinkish tones. You know, with lots of ivy and branches and whatnot.”

Christopher nodded in agreement, though he had no idea what the piece would look like based on Felix’ description. Felix noticed the blank look in his eyes and he started laughing.

“I’ll show you some pictures when we arrive. I’ll help you. What’s your favourite colour?”

“I do not have a favourite colour.”

“Well, aren’t you boring?” Felix said with another eye roll. “Come on, what’s a colour you find aesthetically pleasing?”

“Black,” Christopher said at once.

“Unfortunately, black flowers are very rare. Try again.”

Christopher thought about it. He supposed he quite liked lavender, but only because it reminded him of Felix. He was not a fan of white – too light for someone who’s entire existence was made from shadows – and he did not do well with greens either. But he did like yellow, and he did not oppose red either, though only if it was not too bright.

“I like yellow,” Christopher said decidedly.

“Well, there you go. Something to think about. Luckily for you, yellow is a common colour among flowers.”

“I will ask the florist to help me,” Christopher said. “They will know which flowers go well together.”

“You do that,” Felix said absent-mindedly, staring out at the road. “Hey! I finished the book!” he said with a smile. “Yesterday evening. The last few pages went by a lot quicker, especially after Jisung helped with the words.”

“And what did you think of it?” Christopher asked seriously.

Felix laughed. “To be honest, I have no idea what it was about. I was too focussed on analysing the letters and sounds I didn’t even really try to understand the story. I do know it was about a cat in a hat, though.”

“Very clever,” Christopher remarked with a smile.

The florist shop was busy. It smelled like nature and soil, and there was a cold draft in the shop, even with the doors closed. About a dozen people roamed the tiny shop, holding bouquets and plants in their hands, shrinking away from the bigger bundles of flowers and their prices consisting of three numbers. Christopher understood their hesitation. Why pay so much for something they could pick from the side of the road? _These bouquets are a bit more refined than side-of-the-road flowers though_ , Christopher thought.

“Hello!” a woman called out. Multiple heads turned in her direction, but she ignored them and made a beeline straight towards them. “You two must be Christopher and Felix, yes? You booked an appointment for a floral arrangement class?” Felix nodded. “Follow me,” the woman said, leading them to the back of the shop. “I’m Tamara, and I will be helping you guys today. Either of you done this before?”

Christopher shook his head. “Neither have I,” Felix piped up, “but we do grow a lot of flowers in our own garden. I’m not allowed to cut them, though.”

“That’s alright, then. I’ll walk you through it. You booked a private class, so it’ll just be the three of us.”

Felix, who was a few paces ahead, turned his head and wiggled his eyebrows. Christopher met the display with a blank stare, which made Felix bust out laughing. Tamara turned around and shot them a quizzical look.

“Something funny?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Felix said quickly.

She led them up a narrow staircase, and the sound from down below muffled, disappearing completely once Tamara closed the door behind them.

The room was filled with sweet-scented flowers. In the middle of the room stood a large wooden table framed with metal, the surface dirty with dark stains and paint. Two of the walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of different vases and other vessels, and the other two walls were lined with buckets of flowers and plants of various colours and sizes.

“Have a seat,” Tamara said, pointing at the two stools at the end of the table. “Now, it’s important that you have a bit of an idea as to what you want to create.” Felix gave Christopher a pointed look, which he promptly ignored. “Contrary to popular belief, putting a bunch of flowers together and hoping for the best won’t create a good result. There needs to be harmony and oneness.”

“I have some pictures,” Felix said, pulling up his phone. He and Tamera went into a discussion about which vase would best suit his vision and how much ivy would be too much. Christopher wandered around the room, looking for a colour scheme he liked. He knew he was going to use yellow, that much was a given, and to his relief, there was an abundance of yellow flowers. Without consultation, he selected a small black vase. Felix raised an eyebrow at the choice, but Tamara was happy to let him have his way. Reaper privilege.

Felix wanted more of a mantelpiece installation, so Tamara went to the back room where she found a classical roman column pedestal, which slightly resembled a mantelpiece. She laid down a base on which Felix could start working. She helped him select the flowers and ivy, arguing about what would look best together.

Christopher smiled. Felix was completely in his element. He had never seen him so relaxed and confident. It warmed his heart, seeing Felix happy like this.

Christopher began assembling his own arrangement. He started with soft yellow roses, which he thought were a solid starting point, and then added begonias. Next was some goldenrod and a few smaller sunflowers, which tinted more orange than yellow. He liked it so far, but it was very yellow, so he decided to add in some green leaves and another colour. He decided on blue flowers with small petals. He put the blue lobelia between the yellow flowers and critically admired the result.

“Wow, Chris!” Felix commented, carefully turning the vase so he could have a better look. “This looks amazing!”

Felix’ own piece was nearly finished as well. There was a lot of ivy, with yellow, red, orange and pinkish flowers. Strings of tiny white buds hung from the branches and bundles of minuscule flowers tied it all together. Felix proudly observed it. “What do you think?”

Christopher came to stand behind him and circled his arms around Felix’ waist, pulling him into his body. “You look beautiful.”

Felix laughed. “I was talking about the flowers.”

“I was not. Though they look beautiful as well. I like looking at you better,” Christopher said, subtly sniffing Felix’ hair. “You smell better, too.”

Felix snorted but Christopher felt him heat up. He quickly wiggled his way out of Christopher’s grasp before Tamara could see them being all touchy, and did not directly look at him again until Tamara announced everything was done.

The photographer was coming in half an hour. She had said she normally did not go to an already chosen location, but once Christopher had explained that transporting their preferred décor, the floral pieces, was impossible and that he would pay her extra for her troubles, her only requirement had been that they helped her lug the equipment upstairs.

While they waited for her, Tamara fixed them up some sandwiches for lunch and ate with them. Christopher would have preferred some time alone with Felix, especially because Felix was feeling shy and Christopher loved antagonising him. But Felix was enjoying Tamara’s company, so he begrudgingly stayed quiet while the other two talked about flowers, and school, and the economy, and other things Christopher had absolutely no interest in. When the photographer rang him to tell him she was waiting outside, he announced her presence with a little too much excitement in his voice.

Felix and Christopher carried lights and the backdrop upstairs, and Tamara helped the photographer, whose name was Minji, drag the heavy cases upstairs. Minji instructed them where to put the lights and their floral pieces. Tamara made last-minute changes to the pieces so they would come out better on camera and then Felix and Christopher were sat on their stools in front of their creations, blinking against the light of the flash.

Christopher felt out of his depth. Like Felix, he had never had his photo taken, though _unlike_ Felix, he had truly never been photographed by anyone, and he did not know what to do or how to act. He sat on the stool as if he was nailed to it, and no matter how many instructions Minji gave, his posture never changed.

Felix was quite the opposite. Though he was shy in the beginning, after the first few photos, he became looser. He changed positions and angles, and after ten minutes completely abandoned his stool in favour of standing behind Christopher, his hands lightly on his shoulders After another ten minutes, Minji announced she had taken enough photos and that they were allowed to select which ones they wanted to be printed.

Christopher sat back as Felix and Minji went through all of them, with Tamara giving feedback as well. Christopher was fine with whatever they chose. He looked the same in all of the photos.

So far, they had selected three that they wanted to have printed. One where Felix was stood alone in front of the flowers (that one was for the Fathers), and one where the two of them were sitting on the stools and they were both giving the camera serious stares. The last one was secretly Christopher’s favourite. Felix was standing behind him, his hands on Christopher’s shoulders and wearing a slight smile. It reminded Christopher of old family portraits.

“And this one,” Felix said suddenly, pointing at the screen.

Minji frowned. “Are you sure? I took that accidentally. It’s out of focus and the lighting isn’t great either.”

She was right, but Christopher immediately understood why Felix wanted the photo. It was a candid moment. Minji had taken it right as they had stood up, their hands gripping each other’s arms, relaxed smiles on their faces. Christopher’s eyes were filled with love as he looked at Felix, with Felix looking just off-camera, probably at Tamara.

“Alright, then,” Minji said, sighing. I’ll edit these today and print them as well.”

“And you will bring them personally?”

“That is what you paid me for,” she responded. “Tonight, eight o’clock at St. Paul’s.”

“Thank you so much, Minji,” Felix said.

She smiled. “No worries, you were lovely to work with. Have you ever thought about taking on modelling as a profession?” Minji asked.

“Oh, uh–” Felix became as red as a tomato. “Not really,” he said.

Minji snapped her case shut. “You should try it. I think you’d be successful.”

“And if that doesn’t work, you could always become a florist,” Tamara said while she cleaned up the last of their mess.

“That, too,” Minji laughed.

That evening, they welcomed Minji into St. Paul’s. Christopher was slightly pleased to see she looked uncomfortable being there. He was not the only one who felt anxious about entering a church. Felix noticed as well because he took the envelope and only spoke a few words to her, thanking her again for today and wishing her a happy New Year. Then she was gone, and they took the photos into the dining room where the other boys were seated. They crowded around the pair to see the photos.

Minji had delivered on her promise of making the photos editorial worthy. The boys wowed and gasped at the visuals, dissecting each photo in detail.

“That’s not right,” Felix said while holding a photo.

“Is there something wrong?” Christopher asked, glancing at it. It was the one where Felix stood behind Christopher. “It looks normal to me.”

“She was supposed to print three of these. There’s four. And this one is smaller as well.”

Christopher reddened slightly. Before they had left the flower shop, he had asked Minji if she could print an extra version of that photo for him, one smaller than the rest. She had raised an eyebrow at the request, but had obliged.

“Oh, well, I asked for it.”

“Why?”

“None of your business,” Christopher said, taking it from his hands. Felix rolled his eyes but smiled.

Christopher carefully tucked the photo away in his notebook, stopping for a moment to admire Felix’ pretty face in the picture before closing the book, watching them disappear behind the black cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FLOWERS so i'm very sorry if you do have knowledge of flowers and this is actually really bad


	19. the reaper and his last victim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW major chrachter death

Spirits were low in St. Paul’s, and as if the church could sense the despair, it desperately tried to liven up the mood. The Christmas tree had suddenly become green again, despite the lack of water it had been given the past few days, and warmth filled the nave, even with the doors wide open. Despite its efforts, the atmosphere did not change. The boys did not go outside, even though there was a thick layer of fresh snow in the garden, and even the Fathers had kept their sermons short, ending them before the hour was up, and the church-goers were out of St. Paul’s before the clock had struck eleven.

None of them knew what had caused this mass restlessness. No one except for Christopher and Felix. Today was the thirty-first of January, and in roughly twelve hours, Felix would die.

They were in the kitchen, just the two of them, Felix pressed up against the counter, Christophers softly nibbling at his neck. The cookies they had baked laid abandoned on the drying rack, melted frosting dripping unto the ground. They would clean it later. Perhaps.

Felix breathed loudly, twisting his hands into Christopher’s hair and turning his neck so he had better access. Christopher squeezed Felix’ butt, drawing out a low moan from Felix.

“I love it when you make those sounds,” he said softly, kissing up his jaw, one of his fingers in Felix’ mouth. Felix was too distracted to respond with anything coherently. He simply pulled Christopher closer to him and connected their lips together, letting their tongues slide against each other.

They had been fine, decorating the cookies and laughing as it almost immediately melted, when Felix had gone into a panic about his death and Christopher had not known how to comfort him. Felix had buried himself into Christopher’s body and Christopher had automatically circled his arms around him, protecting him from his anxiety. Felix had pressed himself into Christopher a little _too_ tightly, and when he had slightly shifted, Christopher had been unable to stop himself from quietly moaning, which had urged Felix to do it again, and then again, and that was how they had ended up in this position.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Christopher whispered as he pressed kisses to every part of Felix’s face and neck. “I love you so much.”

“I – ah – I love you too.”

A sudden bang close to the kitchen made them jump apart, away from each other. Felix quickly straightened his shirt and Christopher patted down his hair to make it somewhat presentable again, just in time for them to look inconspicuous as Jisung walked into the kitchen, a book in one hand and an empty mug in the other.

The three of them stood still for a few seconds, Felix’ eyes wide, Christopher’s blank, and Jisung’s darting between the two of them. Then he started smirking and Felix sighed, making his shoulders drop.

“Well, well, well. What are you two doing then?” He glanced at the misshaped cookies and started laughing. “Too distracted, eh? Naughty, naughty.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Felix said, turning away from Jisung. He picked up the empty wrappers and boxes and tossed them in the bin, his eyes on anything except for Christopher or Jisung.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jisung teased. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. Make sure to clean up everything _afterwards_.”

“We were just about to leave, actually,” Felix said, “so no need to hurry or anything.”

Jisung frowned. “What about the cookies?”

“What about them?”

“What are you going to do with them?”

Felix looked at them. “You’re welcome to eat them if you want to, but I’m pretty sure we messed up the measurements.”

Jisung gave them a distasteful look. “I’m not eating those.”

“Then throw them away.” He grabbed Christopher’s hand and dragged him out of the kitchen. “We’re leaving. See you soon.”

They put on their coats and were gone before Jisung – or anyone else – could ambush them. They walked to the local park. A few children were playing in the snow, their parents standing at the edge and not saying much to each other, clearly preferring the warm comfort of their home over the cold.

Christopher and Felix sat down on a metal bench, which was cold, but at least it wasn’t wet like the wooden ones. They silently watched the children for a bit, following their movements and smiling at their laughter.

“Will it hurt?” Felix asked suddenly. Only, the question was not sudden at all. It had been drifting through the air for days now, and Christopher had wondered when, or even if, Felix would ever ask it, alongside the dozens of other questions that were probably clogging his mind.

“No,” Christopher answered simply. “It is painless.”

“Oh,” Felix said. “How does it happen?”

Christopher drew Felix’ attention to his hand as he lifted it from his pocket. It was slightly red from the cold, his fingers long and slender, decorated only by the silver ring he had been gifted by Felix. “This is how it happens. I put my hand on your forehead and you die.”

Felix waited for more, but there was nothing else to say. “That’s it?” he asked, disbelief slipping into his tone. Christopher nodded. “Can you do it in my sleep?”

“If you want to,” Christopher said. “Though I do not think you will sleep knowing you will not wake up anymore. It has nothing to do with what you desire. Your body will not allow it.”

Felix nodded. “You’re probably right. I want it to happen tonight, though. After everyone’s asleep.”

“Yes,” Christopher said. “It will have to happen tonight. Before the clock strikes twelve and the new day begins.”

Felix snorted. “Isn’t that the plot of Cinderella?”

“Did you know one of the first recordings of the Cinderella story was about Rhodopis, a Greek girl who was bathing when an eagle snatched her sandal and carried it to the king, who was so overwhelmed with the beautiful sandal he desired to marry the girl to whom the sandal belonged?”

Felix snorted. “That proves Cinderella is just a story about a foot fetish wrapped in a nice fairy tale.”

“That I cannot deny,” Christopher said with a grin.

“Will they know I was killed?” Felix asked after a beat of silence.

Christopher shook his head. “Reapers are manifestations of death. It is not that everyone who is touched by a reaper dies a natural death. It is that everyone who has died a natural death has been touched by a reaper.”

Felix frowned. “There’s a difference? What about you? What will happen to you?”

“I will submit myself to the fates. I have reached my quota.”

“But won’t they suspect foul play if you die _right_ after me?”

Christopher smiled. “Remember, I cannot die. My body will simply cease to exist. There will be nothing to be found.”

Felix had not stopped frowning. It only became deeper once he heard Christopher’s answer. “But what about the Fathers? And Jisung, Seungmin, and Jeongin? They will want to contact you. What happens then?”

Christopher bit his lip. “I will give my phone to Hyunjin. I have asked him to tell your family that I cannot attend your funeral. They will forget about me over time.”

They were silent again, and after ten minutes, they decided to walk back to St. Paul’s.

Felix helped prepare dinner as Christopher sat in the dining room with the other boys. He was talking to Jisung about a book that had just been published. Christopher had not read it, but he _had_ read a book that was published in the sixteen-hundreds, and the plots of the books seemed to match up almost perfectly, so Christopher talked about that book while Jisung talked about his book, and the conversation went by without a hiccup.

Christopher had never attended dinner at St. Paul’s, and despite the unfamiliar tension in the air, it was a pleasurable affair. He sat next to Felix, with Jisung on his other side, and Father Gideon close enough to strike up a conversation. The boys talked of their New Year’s resolutions and made bets about who would keep to them and who would not. Father Gideon chastised Jeongin for not eating his vegetables and Father Albert laughed heartily as one of the younger boys told a joke.

This was a family.

No matter their differences, their troubles, their rough edges, they were a family. They belonged together. And tonight, Christopher would rip one of them away without warning.

Felix cleared his throat and stood up. “Everyone, if I may have your attention?” Their heads swivelled towards Felix. Christopher looked up in surprise as well. He had not discussed doing anything like this.

“I’m aware that his year’s Christmas was… well… a bit different, no thanks to me.” There were a few awkward laughs. “Really, I just want to say thank you to you guys. Thank you for being my family, and thank you for supporting me through difficult times. I wouldn’t choose anyone over you guys. I love you.” He raised his glass – Sprite – and urged the others to do the same. “To new beginnings,” Felix toasted, and the others followed his example.

Father Gideon smiled warmly as Felix sat down again. “To new beginnings,” he toasted privately.

Christopher left after dinner, promising Felix he would return at eleven-thirty. Felix worried about the key to let him in, and about the Fathers hearing him, and about any of the boys suddenly waking up. Christopher put a hand on Felix’ shoulder and squeezed in reassuringly.

“I can come in without assistance, and no one will see or hear me. You just stay in bed, alright? I will come to you.”

Christopher left the parking lot, only to park a block away at the local grocery store. He could not make himself do anything else other than wait. The minutes dawdled by slowly, and the hours ticked away even slower. Then it was almost eleven-thirty, and Christopher left the car to make the short journey to St. Paul’s.

He was reminded of the first night he had come here when the church had also been covered by darkness. Stepping into it, his feelings had drastically changed. He no longer felt contempt. Only reluctance and hesitance to perform his duty. No. He had to do this now.

He slowly crept up the stairs, stopping at the landing. He had met Felix here. The image of Felix standing in the middle of the corridor with that candle in his hand, his face illuminated by its flame flashed before Christopher’s eyes. No one came out of the room now.

There was a slight movement as Christopher opened the bedroom door, and he knew it was Felix. He silently closed the door, soundlessly making his way over towards Felix’ bunk bed. He slept on the bottom bed, which enabled Christopher to sit down on the mattress. He took Felix’ hand in his own and carefully slipped his ring off. He knew it was not right, that he should ask for it, but he did not say anything as he pocketed it.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” Felix whispered back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, basking in the moonlight from the open curtain, and Christopher saw the exact moment when the panic set it. Felix pushed himself up, his eyes wide and filled with tears.

“I can’t do this. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I can’t do this.”

“Sh,” Christopher shushed. “It is okay. I love you.”

Before Felix could say anything else, Christopher lifted his hand to Felix’ forehead, watching the tear trickle down his cheek, gliding past his freckles, landing on his beautiful lips. And then he lightly touched him, making a cross on his forehead, and Felix fell to his pillow, his eyes closed, his breath gone. Gone. _Gone_.

Christopher stood up abruptly. He could not stand looking at Felix, knowing he was dead, knowing Christopher had just taken his life from him.

His eyes landed on a book on the desk at Felix’ bed. It was his copy of The Cat in the Hat. Christopher smiled ruefully, a tear – no, two tears, no three – slipping down his cheek. He picked it up and flipped it open. A paper fell from the book, and Christopher bent down to pick it up. His breath hitched as he realised what it was.

Felix had painstakingly written, in untidy and nearly illegible handwriting, a last letter goodbye to his family, a will.

_Deer evryone,_

_I love you all so mutsj. Thies past fuw days have been so great and I have been so happier._ _Plees remembur me well and dont forget me. Ever._

_I have som money in my acount. Its not mutsj but can you give it to charitie? An L G B T Q + charitie plees._

_Im so sorrie._

_Love_   
_Felix_

Christopher choked back a sob. He clutched the paper tightly, holding it to his nose, hoping Felix’ scent still lingered on it.

He knew he should burn it or take it with him. This letter suggested Felix had known about his death, and it would be investigated as a suicide. But he could not make himself do it. Felix had put so much effort into writing this letter, something he had not told Christopher about because he had wanted to do it _himself_. It would be disrespectful to take that away from him and his family.

He put the letter back in the book and made sure it was peeking out far enough for someone to notice it.

Then he left the church, the gods watching him as they always did after he had taken a soul. He did not care anymore. Soon, this would be over for him as well.


	20. a well-lived life is rewarded with death

Christopher did not sleep that night. He stayed awake, the scene of Felix’ last moments alive replaying before his eyes. As a punishment, he forced himself to commit Felix’ last breaths, his last words, his last looks, to memory, and he hoped it would burn his eyes out.

He was glad his challenge had occurred at the end of his career. Had the fates decided to torment him in the middle of it, he would have made himself and others around him go crazy. He knew he would not have been able to withstand this torture.

Christopher stayed awake until noon the next day, until he was sure Felix had been discovered and that the authorities had been called. He turned on the local news and watched as the news segment turned from a road collision to the newest report: the death of a teenager. He turned the volume up.

The camera showed St. Paul’s, and then panned down to a woman standing across the street from it, a microphone in her hand and a determined look on her face.

“This otherwise quiet neighbourhood where _St. Paul’s United Church_ , which also serves as an orphanage, is located was shaken up this morning when the body of seventeen-year-old Felix was found. His death appears to be a suicide, but the circumstances are still unclear. So far, the police will not comment on the cause of death. Here with me is Father Gideon, a pastor at the church for over forty years.” The camera moved over to Father Gideon. He was shaken up, and his eyes were red from the crying. In the background, he saw Jisung, his face buried in Father Albert’s chest.

_This is what you have done. Is that not disgusting?_

“Father Gideon, we are so sorry for your loss. What kind of person was Felix?”

“Felix–” Father Gideon’s voice came out hoarse and croaky. He cleared his throat and started over again. “Felix was a beautifully bright boy, whose mere presence often lighted up the room. Raising him was one of the biggest privileges I have ever received.”

The news reporter smiled sadly. “He will be missed. Can you tell me something about the cause of death? People out here are speculating that he might have committed suicide.”

How could they ask him that? Right after Felix passed? It was unkind, but if the news reporter was aware of her lack of empathy, she did not show it.

Father Gideon stared off at something next to the camera. _His own reflection_ , Christopher realised. There was a shop across the street from St. Paul’s, and Father Gideon was staring at himself in the window. Christopher could hardly imagine what must have been crossing his mind at that moment.

_Things were getting better. We were talking again. We were admitting our mistakes. That speech at dinner was his goodbye. Why did I not see it? Why did I not notice it? My child. My child. Oh, my child!_

“Father Gideon?” the news reporter prompted.

“Yes? Oh, well, we don’t know the cause of death yet. There will be an autopsy.”

“But was there a note?” she asked.

“I will be leaving now. Thank you.” He did not wait for the reporter to comment. He turned and gathered his kids, and went back inside the church, closing the doors.

Christopher turned off the television and got up. He was unsteady on his feet for a moment, but he shook his head and collected his things. There was something he needed to do.

***

 _The Sacred Church of His Grace_ was less eery in the sunlight than it was when it was steeped in shadows.

Christopher scoffed. _How dare the sun rise_? Felix was dead, _his_ sun was gone, yet _this_ sun had no qualms about appearing. Weeks without sunshine, and today, the day after Felix died, the sun had decided to come out. What kind of sick play was that?

Christopher did not go inside the church. He had had enough of those. He roamed the grounds, searching for _something_. But nowhere was good enough, and he almost gave up in frustration. He stopped in the middle of the clearing, head tilted towards the sky, and took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs.

Then he continued searching. After thirty minutes he found it. A point where three trees stood an equal distance from each other and a short tree trunk lay on its side in the middle of it. It was _perfect_.

Christopher kneeled buy the trunk and started digging at the soil with his bare hands. He ignored the biting sting of the snow and did not let the frozen ground hinder his efforts. After what felt like an eternity, he had dug a hole big enough to fit the small box.

He opened the box one last time, making sure everything was there. The matching rings with their names engraved into it, and the notebook detailing his and Felix’ time together, the photograph of them together nestled into its pages. He closed the lid again and buried it, covering it with soil and patting it flat. He even made sure to push the snow back, as to make it seem it had been undisturbed.

Afterwards, Christopher went home. He had his favourite dinner with Hyunjin – Minho was gone and Changbin was away, so Hyunjin was his only remaining friend. They talked about their careers, and Hyunjin even managed to make Christopher smile a bit, which the younger reaper considered his biggest victory yet.

After dinner, Hyunjin hugged him goodbye and told him to find him if they ended up in the same lifetime. Christopher promised he would.

Then he took a shower and dressed in his normal clothes. He automatically reached for his phone, but remembered at the last moment he had given it to Hyunjin. No one had called him yet, but they would, sooner rather than later.

He did not pretend any longer. The burst of energy he had gathered while Felix had been alive had disappeared completely. Now that old tiredness was the only thing that remained.

He did not turn on the television to watch the news, and he did not open a book to read. He laid down in his bed, covered himself with the warm blanket, and closed his eyes, knowing he would not have to open them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and it's finished! thank you guy so much for reading this story! this might not be the end for Chris and felix! i've been thinking about writing something about their reincarnation, but i'm not sure about the specifics yet, so don't expect it anytime soon!


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